


we're classic together like egyptian gold

by softirwin



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, but they're legal, dont worry, just for general purposes, not that i write smut anyway but, they are both 18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin
Summary: In retrospect, Calum supposes, he could have ended up with worse partners than Michael Clifford.They’ve all been assigned partners for some stupid project that’s meant to prepare them for being parents. Calum had been banking on getting Luke – the register order is Hemmings, Hood – but apparently the teacher’s paired them up randomly and Hemmings, Irwin was a better choice.“I don’t like kids,” Michael says, “so you’re going to have to do most of the work.” Calum bristles.“I don’t want to do this either," he says irritably. "Plus, it’s a fucking doll. I don’t care whether it lives or dies.”“Good, ‘cause neither do I,” Michael says cheerily. “Whose wardrobe should we store it in?”
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Comments: 46
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO... i found some of this in my ANCIENT drafts on tumblr (fun fact: i have like 38 unposted draft fics in there from 2015) and decided i wanted to roll with it so its currently at 12k words but ive decided im gonna make it chaptered 
> 
> pls talk to me on [tumblr](http://calumcest.tumblr.com) and leave comments pls NOT saying validation is one of the major factors in me continuing to write but its one of the major factors in me continuing to write xoxo

In retrospect, Calum supposes, he could have ended up with worse partners than Michael Clifford.

They’ve all been assigned partners for some stupid project that’s meant to prepare them for being parents, and Calum’s sorely disappointed to find there are no sharp objects nearby when he finds out Luke’s got Ashton. It’s made even more unfair because Calum had been banking on getting Luke – the register order is Hemmings, Hood – but apparently the teacher’s paired them up randomly and _Hemmings, Irwin_ was a better choice. Luke just pats his arm absent-mindedly, not registering Calum’s distress because he’s just been paired with his fucking _boyfriend,_ and he’ll probably show up at church next Sunday because of it.

“Right!” the teacher says, clapping her hands together. “Everybody get into your pairs.” There’s a horrible cacophony of screeches as chair legs scrape across linoleum, mumbles and murmurs of apologies as people try and thread between each other and step on each other’s toes, and the mutters of ‘what the fuck is the point in this stupid project anyway’ that follow suit as soon as people have found their designated partner. Luke gets up and leaves Calum without so much as a backwards glance as soon as Miss Haydon’s finished speaking, but Calum makes no move to get up, glaring at his partner Michael from across the room and hoping it conveys _come over here, arsehole_.

After a while, Michael gets up and saunters over, pencilcase in one hand and book in the other, and sits himself down next to Calum.

“Hey, partner,” he says, and Calum scowls, stabbing his biro into the wood of the desk and hoping he leaves a mark. Luke wouldn’t call him _partner_. “Calum, right?”

“Yeah,” Calum says moodily.

“I’m Michael.”

“I know.” They’ve only been at the same school for _seven years_ , but whatever.

“I assumed you would.” Michael’s smirking now, a happy little smirk that kind of makes Calum wish murder were legal. He settles for digging his biro deeper into the desk instead. Hopefully Michael will touch the marks and get splinters.

“Here,” a boy called Joseph says, tossing a doll onto their desk before moving onto the next pair. Calum looks at it in distaste. He doesn’t like children, even fake ones.

“I don’t like kids,” Michael says, “so you’re going to have to do most of the work.” Calum bristles.

“Excuse me?” he says coldly. “Did I ever say _I_ liked children?”

“You seem the type,” Michael shrugs. “Squishy face, and all that. Kids would love you.”

“Doesn’t mean it goes both ways,” Calum says irritably. “I don’t want to do this either. Plus, it’s a fucking doll. I don’t care whether it lives or dies.”

“Good, ‘cause neither do I,” Michael says cheerily. “Whose wardrobe should we store it in?”

Now _that’s_ the kind of idea Calum can get down with.

\-------

Calum’s mum, unfortunately, has other ideas.

When he comes home holding the doll by its foot with its arms and head flailing all over the place, she’s a little confused to say the least. Calum explains the project and his and Michael’s plan to her as he advances up the stairs into his room, all ready to stick the doll in his wardrobe, cover it in Blink shirts and forget it exists until their next lesson, but she squawks and runs up the stairs behind him.

“Calum Thomas Hood!” she shouts, wrenching the doll out of his hand. “You take this project seriously, you hear me?”

“What?” Calum asks in disbelief. “Mum, you know it’s not real, right? It’s a doll.”

“And it’s good practice for the future,” his mum insists, turning the baby the right way around and cradling it in her arms. Calum has to fight back a laugh. “You’re going to need to know how to handle your own children one day.”

“Mum,” Calum says patiently. “I don’t like kids. Why would I have any myself?”

“Well, regardless,” his mum says, “it’s an important life skill – and anyway, Mali might have children. Here, take it properly. Support its head, look, there in the crook of your arm. And try not to look so murderous whilst doing it.” Calum’s lips are curled, almost snarling at the doll that’s now wedged awkwardly in his arms. “Good. There you go. Dinner’ll be ready in an hour; don’t forget to bring the baby down.”

“It’s not a baby, it’s a _doll_ ,” Calum shouts after her as she walks out of his room and down the stairs, to which he receives a tut.

Fuck this, he thinks, dropping the doll on the floor. It lands on its head, and he hopes he’s broken its spine.

\-------

The requirements for the project are simple. The doll must be brought to every lesson and must be carefully looked after at home (although they have no way of checking that, so Calum’s planning on using it as a bouncy ball). Partners will take it in turns, a day at a time, to take responsibility for the doll, and partners have to go on a minimum of two outings with the doll, returning a slip signed by the parents of each partner to confirm this actually took place.

So all in all, it’s not the worst project ever. Or it wouldn’t be, if Calum were paired with someone he’s actually friends with, like Luke, instead of Michael.

“Have you got the doll?” Michael asks when Calum walks into the room, already sat in Luke’s usual seat. Calum holds out the doll gingerly, a plastic foot in between his thumb and forefinger. “Nice.”

“Not really,” Calum says, chucking the doll on the desk. It lands with a hollow thud, and a boy next to them turns to glare at them. Calum doesn’t care, though, because it’s a fucking doll and this is a stupid project. It’s not like this chunk of plastic is representative of a real human, anyway.

“I think we’re learning to dress it today,” Michael says, nodding at the screen behind Miss Haydon’s desk where ‘CLOTHES’ is projected in black on white.

“Great,” Calum huffs, sitting down. “It’s a fucking baby. Get it a loincloth. It doesn’t need anything else.” Michael laughs, taking Calum by surprise. Before he has the chance to reply, though, Miss Haydon bustles into the room, claps her hands together and starts talking, meaning it’s time for Calum to zone out.

He daydreams a little, imagines how it would be if his, Luke and Ashton’s little band kept growing on YouTube, started getting to over a thousand views. He imagines waking up to texts from Alex Gaskarth, going out with Kellin Quinn, writing songs with Dave Grohl. He’s only pulled back to reality when a pile of multicoloured cloth is thrown onto the desk, the movement catching his eye.

“That’s it?” he can’t help but ask in disbelief. “They want us to wind back two decades and dress the doll like it’s nineteen-ninety-four again?”

“Apparently,” Michael says, shrugging. “You can dress it.”

“Uh, no thanks,” Calum says. “This thing is both of ours, in case you forgot.”

“I was trying to,” Michael says. “Fine, but you do the trousers.”

“Fine, but you’re the first one changing the nappy when it comes to it,” Calum says, kind of basking in the heat of the glower Michael sends his way.

“Dickhead,” Michael mutters under his breath, yanking some of the cloth up from the pile on the table and turning it this way and that. “I don’t even know what this is meant to be,” he says after a moment.

“Trousers, obviously,” Calum says, snatching the item from Michael and trying to force one leg through a hole in the material. Michael picks up another bit of cloth from the pile and finds a hole, putting it onto the doll’s head.

“Oh, and I suppose you think that’s a coat?” Michael asks sarcastically, pointing at the garment covering the doll’s head. _Those_ are the trousers, two legs waving awkwardly above the doll’s jeans-clad face.

“Who gives a shit?” Calum asks in exasperation. “It keeps it warm and makes it stand out in a crowd. Our doll’s got character.” Michael snorts but picks up the two remaining pieces of cloth - little socks, Calum realises - and shoves one on each hand.

“There,” he says.

“Its legs are too fat,” Calum says, leaving the jumper halfway up the doll’s legs. It’ll probably cover most of its lower body when the torso-part of the jumper is pulled up, anyway. “What idiot designed these?”

“What, jumpers?”

“No, babies.” Michael snorts again.

“Tell me about it,” he mutters. “Here, gimme. ‘S my turn today.”

“Have fun,” Calum says.

“Not likely.”

\-------

The doll is returned to Calum properly clothed the next day, by a sheepish-looking Michael leaning against Calum’s locker.

“Mum told me I have to take this project seriously,” is how Michael greets him; an explanation, perhaps. Calum groans.

“That makes two of us,” he says. “Fuck this, honestly.”

“I know,” Michael says. “It took me like, a full _hour_ to dress that thing.” He nods at the doll that he’s holding by the throat.

“Great,” Calum says, grabbing it by the head and wrenching it out of Michael’s grasp. “What’s the point in this project, anyway?”

“Something about preparing us for the future, I don’t know,” Michael says, scuffing his feet.

“Not like some of us might not want kids, or anything,” Calum mutters.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Michael says emphatically. “Anyway, whatever. See you later.” He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Calum staring disdainfully at the hunk of plastic in his grip. A few Year Nines walk past, give him a weird look and whisper amongst themselves and it reminds Calum that hey, maybe he shouldn’t just walk around school holding a doll by its head with absolutely no explanation, so he shoves it in his locker, slams the door shut and slopes off to English.

\-------

“We need another guitarist,” Luke says at lunchtime, apropos of nothing.

“Charming,” Calum says. “I’m right here, y’know.”

“You prefer bass,” Luke says, digging his spoon into his chocolate mousse.

“That’s not the point,” Calum says, watching with interest as the plastic cup holding the mousse cracks.

“I can play guitar,” Ashton offers, eyeing Luke’s mousse warily.

“Yeah, great idea, Ash,” Calum says. “Let’s just have three guitarists and no drummer. Watch your fucking fingers, Luke.”

“I’m watching!” Luke grumbles, but it’s too late – he catches his fingertip in the crack of the plastic cup, and immediately jumps back, swearing and sucking on his finger.

“Told you,” Calum says, shrugging, and pops another chip in his mouth.

“Dickhead,” Luke says, through a mouthful of finger.

“Luke’s right, actually,” Ashton says thoughtfully.

“What the fuck did I do?” Calum asks indignantly.

“Not that you’re a dickhead, that we need another guitarist,” Ashton says.

“He is a dickhead, though,” Luke mumbles.

“Well, do you guys know anyone who plays guitar?” Calum says.

“No,” Ashton admits.

“Me either,” Luke says.

“There you go, then,” Calum says, digging into his own mousse.

“Maybe we should put out an advert,” Ashton suggests, catching Luke’s fingers as he pulls them out of his mouth and bringing them to his lips for a kiss. Calum pulls a face.

“No one’s going to join a band with you two in it,” he says. “We’re doomed.”

Luke and Ashton both flip him off with their free hands. 

\-------

Michael’s at Calum’s locker at the end of the day too.

“Hey,” he says, when Calum stops by his locker. “I thought it would be fun to hang out with the doll.” Calum frowns as he chucks a textbook into the locker and pulls the doll out.

“You have a pretty twisted idea of fun, but okay,” he says, thrusting the doll at Michael.

“I meant, like,” Michael says, waving his hands around but not taking the doll off Calum. “Me and you. And the doll.”

“Oh,” Calum says, “like, one of the days?”

“I guess,” Michael says. “You in?” Calum shrugs. He has no other plans; why not?

“Alright,” he says, slamming his locker door shut. “Where d’you wanna take this thing?”

“Mine?” Michael suggests.

“Does that count as ‘going out with’ the doll?” Calum asks.

“Technically,” Michael says. “I mean, we’ll be taking it to my house. That involves walking to the bus stop, and stuff.” Calum snorts, because he’s not sure that’s quite what Miss Haydon meant when she said _you have to take the baby out twice_ , but he’s lazy and he’s not going to dispute it.

“Whatever,” he says, shaking his head with a small smile. “Let’s go.”

\-------

Michael’s mother is waiting for them when they get home.

“Hi, mum!” Michael shouts, dumping his bag on the floor and quickly changing the position of the doll so he’s cradling it rather than nearly pulling its arm out of the socket. “I brought my partner for that project home.” A short blonde woman, presumably Michael’s mother, comes padding out of the kitchen and beams at the two of them.

“This is Calum,” Michael says, gesturing at him.

“Hi, Mrs Clifford,” Calum says, feeling a little awkward.

“We’re going upstairs,” Michael tells her before she has the chance to greet Calum properly (something Calum’s kind of glad about). “Got to hang out with that thing.”

“Michael,” his mother says reproachfully. “I told you to take this seriously. It’s worrying how little you care.” Michael groans.

“I don’t care because it’s a _doll_ , mum,” he says. Michael’s mum purses her lips.

“In any case, if you’re hoping to get the slip signed, I’m not signing it if you’re just going to sit upstairs. You have to actually _take it outside_.” Michael groans again but spins on his heel, rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he says grumpily, slinging his bag back over his shoulder. “We’ll go to the park.”

“Good,” Michael’s mother says, smiling again. “See you later, Calum.”

“See you later, Mrs Clifford,” Calum returns politely, following Michael out of the front door and shutting it behind him.

“I hate this stupid project,” Michael says, staring contemptuously at the doll in his hand. “I hope this thing’s head falls off. Accidentally.”

“We could make that happen,” Calum says longingly, because the idea’s so tempting.

“Later,” Michael says. “Let’s get drunk in the park first.”

\-------

A Smirnoff Ice and a half later, Calum’s starting to feel a little tipsy.

Michael’s sat on the grass in front of him, head tipped back with laughter at something Calum’s just said, and the doll’s sat in between them (well, more like was chucked on the ground in between them and is lying in a heap of torso and limbs). Calum’s grinning, liking the way the evening sun is warm on his skin, and it’s making him feel a little bit drunker than he probably is.

“I think,” he declares. “I think I’m a little bit drunk.”

“You think?” Michael asks, tilting his head back forwards to look at him with an amused grin. “We’re awful parents.” Calum laughs.

“Poor doll,” he says, nudging it with his knee. It flops pathetically, and makes him giggle. “At least it’s dressed now.”

“Yeah, thanks to _me_ ,” Michael says. “It would have died of hypothermia in your hands.”

“Hey,” Calum whines, because that’s so not fair. “I’m a better parent than _that_.” He expects Michael to laugh, giggle at least, but Michael just hums thoughtfully and kicks at Calum’s foot.

“D’you ever think about how fast we’re growing up?” he says suddenly, completely out of the blue.

“No,” Calum says.

“You just called yourself a parent,” Michael says. “That’s what we are to this thing, for the time being. Parents. That’s something I usually associate with like, thirty-somethings.”

“You _sound_ like a thirty-something,” Calum mutters. “Stop whining about being old.”

“I just don’t feel young,” Michael says.

“You _are_ young,” Calum says. “You’re eighteen.”

“I know,” Michael says. “I guess I just feel like I kind of wasted my adolescence. I didn’t go to parties or anything, get laid all the time and all that. Didn’t get laid at all, actually.”

“Oh,” Calum says. “So you’re a virgin?” Michael shrugs, but his cheeks are red and Calum thinks it’s more than the alcohol. It might be sunburn, actually - Michael’s pale enough to be susceptible to it. Maybe Calum should have made him give that guy who bought them the Smirnoff Ices (because of course neither of them had their IDs) some money for suncream too.

“Have you?” Michael asks. The rest of the question hangs unspoken in the air, uncertain words of a half-stranger who doesn’t really know if he’ll get an answer.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “My ex.”

“Oh,” Michael says. He opens his mouth to continue and hesitates, looking unsure about what he’s about to say. Calum just waits it out - he’s used to this with Luke - and sure enough, Michael takes another swig of his drink (liquid confidence?) before speaking again.

“Was it good?” Calum shrugs.

“Wasn’t _bad_ ,” he says. “Just felt like…I don’t know. It felt like there was something missing.” He’s never told anyone that before, not even Luke, because Christ, he’s eighteen and sex is supposed to be, like, _the_ best thing, not something to complain about, but he’d never felt _quite_ right with her. Somehow, though, it feels safe to tell Michael, which makes him feel a little strange. He takes another sip of his drink to try and shake that thought.

“Did you come inside her?”

“Jesus Christ,” Calum mutters, diverting his gaze to his bottle as he feels a blush start to creep up his own cheeks. “Yeah, but like. In a condom.”

“Obviously,” Michael says, but he sounds a bit distant.

“Obviously,” Calum agrees. They lull into a natural, comfortable silence, and Calum thinks that’s the end of it before Michael asks another question.

“Are you straight, then?” Calum blinks, and nods.

“Are you?” he asks. Michael shakes his head.

“I’m not anything,” he says. Calum shrugs.

“Cool,” he says, because he doesn’t really care either way.

The conversation dies for the final time this time round.

\-------

Michael’s mum doesn’t sign the slips on the grounds that they both stumble their way home holding the doll by its foot. Calum finds he doesn’t care because when they finally manage to get inside Michael treats him to a tipsy rendition of ‘I Miss You’ on his guitar and makes Calum tear up a bit.

( _It was just the alcohol_ , he tells himself the next morning, squeezing his eyes shut tight as if it’ll erase the memory of hazily thinking that Michael looked kind of pretty playing guitar from his mind.)

\-------

After that, Calum decides that maybe Michael really isn’t a bad partner at all. He could have been paired with someone who was all eager for him to take the project seriously. In fact, given the way Luke’s coddling his and Ashton’s doll, it’s probably for the best Calum wasn’t paired with him.

They’ve only got to look after the doll for a month, and by the time the first week has passed Calum’s started to get into the swing of things. Michael always waits at Calum’s locker before school, either to give him the doll or to take it off him, and they usually stop and make small talk for a while before going off to their respective lessons.

On Friday, Michael waits at Calum’s locker at the end of the day too.

“What do we do over the weekend?” he asks, when Calum approaches.

“What do you mean?” Calum says, throwing his book into his locker.

“I mean, like, how are we going to alternate days? Or should we just alternate weekends?” Calum shrugs.

“I don’t mind,” he says, slamming his locker shut and leaning against it so he’s facing Michael. “I can come and fetch it on Sunday if you want.” Michael shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking slightly awkward and hesitant. Calum cocks his head, silently prompting him to go ahead, and Michael bites his lip before speaking.

“We could maybe hang out on Sunday?” he says. “I mean, like. If you want to. If you have nothing better to do.”

“Cool,” Calum says, because he’d actually really enjoyed hanging out with Michael last time and he’s kind of sick of third-wheeling Luke and Ashton. It’s nice to have someone who pays attention to him. Calum’s pretty sure he could cut off his own leg and eat it in front of Luke and Ashton and they wouldn’t notice. “Sunday at like, two, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, looking relieved. “Thank _fuck_ you’re not a morning person either.” Calum laughs.

“I’ve got a match on Sunday morning,” he says. “I might be a bit hot and sweaty afterwards, by the way.”

“That’s fine,” Michael says, shrugging. “You can shower at mine.” 

“Alright,” Calum says, nodding and grinning. “See you Sunday?”

“See you Sunday,” Michael confirms, and he’s grinning too, staying put with the doll in his hands as Calum walks away.

\-------

True to his word, Calum’s ringing Michael’s door at two o’clock on Sunday afternoon.

It’s Michael’s mum who answers, much to Calum’s disappointment, because he’s still in his kit and his hair’s plastered to his forehead with sweat and he’s probably still dripping with it because it’s like, twelve thousand degrees or something, and he’s still panting because he’s just played a goddamn match and then jogged all the way over here and had been counting on Michael opening the door. So really, not a good second impression on Michael’s mum.

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “I think Michael’s still asleep.”

“Great,” Calum says. “Um, should I come back later?”

“No, no, come in,” she says, stepping aside to let Calum in. He takes his boots off before stepping into the house, cautious of how much mud always clings to his studs, and hopes his feet don’t smell _too_ much as he hovers awkwardly in the hallway, awaiting further instruction. “You can go on ahead upstairs, if you like. He needs waking up anyway.”

“Oh,” Calum says. “Um, okay. Thank you, Mrs Clifford.”

“It’s Karen, honey,” she says, smiling at him before bustling off back to the kitchen or the living room or some other room in the Clifford household that Calum’s yet to see.

He takes the stairs up to Michael’s room two at a time, hoping there isn’t mud on his socks that’ll stain the creamy carpet, and knocks on the door that still says _Michael’s – KEEP OUT!_ in messy kids’ handwriting.

“Fuck _off_ , mum,” Michael mumbles from inside, and Calum grins.

“I’m not your mum, unless I’m seriously mistaken,” he says, and there’s a moment of silence.

“Calum?”

“Yep.”

“What time is it?”

“Like, just gone two?”

“Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry. Hang on, I’m naked.” There’s the sound of rustling – probably Michael throwing his covers aside and trying to find some clothes to put on – and then he pulls the door open.

“Wow,” he says, raking his eyes over Calum. Calum feels strangely exposed at the gaze, like he wants to cover himself up, because there’s something strangely intense in the way Michael’s sizing him up. “You weren’t kidding about the ‘hot and sweaty’ bit, huh?”

“Yeah, about that,” Calum says, smiling sheepishly. “I literally jogged here straight after the match.”

“Did you win?”

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations. D’you want a shower?”

“Um…please?” Michael laughs, and points to a room at the end of the hallway.

“The shower’s pretty easy to use, so really, if you need any help with that you’re going to have to come out naked and find me and you’re going to deserve that shame. There’ll be towels in the cupboard under the sink,” he tells Calum, who nods. “I’m going to get dressed in the meantime.”

“I shower fast, so don’t think you can sneak a wank in too,” Calum says playfully. Michael laughs, but it’s a little distant and his eyes flick up and down Calum’s body again and Calum doesn’t know what it means.

“That sounds like a challenge to me,” he says.

“You can’t wank with the doll in the room anyway,” Calum says, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes. “Bad influence.”

“It’s not like it would _know_ ,” Michael says. “I mean, even if it _was_ real, it’s just a _baby_.”

“Think of Harry Potter,” Calum says. “He remembered his mother’s screams.”

“I can wank without screaming!” Michael says, sounding affronted.

“Are you saying you usually scream?”

“I- no!” Calum’s laughing now, and Michael slaps him on the arm with a scowl. “You’re such a bastard.” Calum just grins at him again before walking off to the bathroom, leaving a scowling Michael with his hands on his hips in the hallway.

\-------

Calum walks back into Michael’s room with nothing but his boxers on, his hair dripping and droplets of water still running down his skin, water vapour from his seven trillion degree shower that condensed when he hit the cooler air outside the bathroom.

“Uh, Michael?” he says, and Michael jumps, pausing his videogame and swivelling around to face Calum. “Can I borrow some of your clothes? I didn’t realise how bad my kit smelt until I got out of the shower, sorry.” It takes Michael a moment to respond.

“Oh,” Michael says suddenly, as if he’s mentally slapped himself. He tears his gaze away from Calum and points at his wardrobe. “Uh, yeah, ‘course. There should be some stuff in there, like, jeans and stuff. I only own chequered shirts, black skinny jeans and band shirts though, so don’t hold your breath.”

“Perfect,” Calum says, grinning as he makes his way over to the wardrobe and starts rifling through the clothes. “A man after my own heart. You don’t mind if I get changed in here, do you? I think I might have evaporated your bathroom with the temperature of my shower, sorry.”

“‘Course, make yourself at home. I’m going to put a movie on downstairs and take the stupid doll with me so it looks like we’re taking it seriously,” Michael says loudly. “Come down when you’re dressed.”

“No need to yell, Jesus,” Calum mutters, but Michael’s already out of the room. Whatever, he thinks, shrugging on a Green Day shirt and pulling on some skinny jeans with a little more difficulty (it’s his thighs, honestly). He shakes his hair out a little, getting most of the remaining excess water out, before bounding down the stairs to join Michael and the doll downstairs.

“That was quick,” Michael says, pausing the film when Calum sits down next to him.

“It’s only a shirt and some jeans,” Calum says. “Hardly defusing a nuclear bomb.” Michael snorts and settles back against the sofa, tucking his legs underneath him as he unpauses the movie, but Calum can feel Michael’s eyes on him well into the first scene.

\-------

Michael gets bored halfway through the movie and picks up the doll, doing something with it on his lap. Calum’s actually pretty enraptured by the film so he doesn’t pay attention to what Michael’s doing, brushing it off as a bored teenager trying to find something to entertain himself with. It’s only when the film finishes and Calum reaches forwards to turn the TV off that he catches a glimpse of the doll out of the corner of his eye.

“Michael!” he nearly shouts, forgetting about the TV and lunging for the doll instead, ripping it out of Michael’s grasp.

“Yeah?” Michael asks innocently.

“What the fuck have you done?” Calum asks.

“Tattooed it,” Michael says, as if it’s blindingly obvious.

“ _Why?_ ”

“‘Cause our kid’s got to have some kind of unique selling point, alright,” Michael says, a sulky edge to his tone.

“It’s a _baby_.”

“I think babies with tattoos are cool as fuck,” Michael argues.

“I’m pretty sure it counts as some form of child abuse,” Calum says.

“People pierce their kids’ ears, don’t they?”

“Yeah, not their _arms_. With _permanent ink_.”

“You didn’t stop me,” Michael says defensively.

“You’re the least responsible parent,” Calum says, groaning. “Miss Haydon is going to _kill_ us, Michael.”

“Just- put like, some more clothes on it,” Michael says. “It’s going to be fine.” Calum shakes his head in disbelief, chucking the doll back at Michael who cuddles it protectively to his chest.

The blame for this is _so_ going on Michael.

\-------

(“Whose idea was this?”

“Mine,” Calum says.

“Detention, Hood.”)

\-------

“Nappies,” is the first word out of Michael’s mouth in their lesson next Tuesday. He looks absolutely stricken, and Calum can’t help but snort as he dumps his bag on the floor and slides into the seat next to Michael.

“Well, I hope you have fun with that,” Calum says.

“Just ‘cause I’m going first doesn’t mean you’re not going at all,” Michael says. Calum knows it shouldn’t surprise him that Michael remembers that little detail of their previous conversation – clearly Calum had too, so it doesn’t _mean_ anything – but he still feels a small rush of adrenaline. 

“I’ll learn by watching,” Calum says. “Absorb the visual image, and all that.”

“Shut up,” Michael says.

“Alright!” Miss Haydon says, clapping her hands and depriving Calum of the time to retort. “We’re going to watch a quick video about how to properly change your baby’s nappy. First, though, you have to put a nappy on it. I’ve laid two out on your tables for you.”

“Why do we need to put two nappies on it, Miss?” some kid asks. Michael rolls his eyes so hard Calum’s surprised they roll back.

“One’s for putting on now, one’s the one you’re going to change the baby into,” Miss Haydon explains. Calum sees Luke mutter _do you think we should put two on, just to be on the safe side?_ to Ashton across the room and is suddenly overwhelmed with gratefulness for his at-first unwanted partner. Luke would _never_ have tattooed the doll, because Luke’s fucking boring. Michael knows how to live. “You’ve got three minutes to put that on, and then we’ll watch the video.”

“I’ll do this bit,” Calum says, grabbing the doll before Michael can claim this counts as the first nappy.

“This counts as the first nappy,” Michael says, trying to snatch the doll back off Calum. Calum dangles it over the edge of the table, out of Michael’s reach, and Michael sits back with a scowl.

“Calum Hood!” he hears someone (Miss Haydon) squawk, and quickly puts the doll back on the table.

“Sorry, Miss,” he says, flipping a laughing Michael off under the table. “So, uh. How do you put a nappy on?”

“Well, _I_ personally don’t, but-”

“You know what I mean.”

“-I think you just put the legs through the holes and hope for the best,” Michael says, shrugging.

“Alright,” Calum says, glancing up to see whether Miss Haydon’s still looking or not. She is, with a stern look on her face, so he supposes he can’t turn the doll upside down and force the nappy on that way. Fuck.

He tries to do it properly, he really does, but the legs of the doll are so fat and won’t co-operate with him at all, so he eventually hisses _cover me_ to Michael, who places his body in Miss Haydon’s line of vision, before turning the doll on its head and shoving the nappy on.

“Thanks,” Calum says, when Michael leans back again. “Jesus, this is hard work. If anything, this whole shit has confirmed to me that I’m _never_ becoming a parent.” Michael snorts, nodding at the way Calum’s just dumped the doll face-first on the table whereas most pairs are supporting it so it’s sat up on the desk.

“Got that,” he says.

“Right,” Miss Haydon says suddenly, and the chatter in the room dies down. “It’s only a short video, but given the levels of dedication of _some_ of the people in this class-“ Calum can feel everybody’s eyes on him and Michael “-it might take us the rest of the lesson to complete a single nappy change, so let’s get going.”

The video’s boring and mostly useless, in Calum’s opinion. It explains a lot of stuff about talcum powder that Calum forgets as soon as Michael mutters something about _yeah, I bet that’s what it is_ and washing the baby’s butt (which, _gross_ ), but then again, Calum doesn’t really need to remember since it’s Michael doing the changing. He’s planning on distracting Michael as much as he can to lengthen the time it takes Michael to change the nappy and thereby decrease his own chances of having to change it.

“Right!” Miss Haydon says, clapping her hands together with a bright, false smile as soon as the video’s finished. “You have everything you need on your table. I’ll be coming around to make sure you’re doing a good job and give you any help you might need.” The class immediately dissolves back into chatter.

“Great,” Michael says, staring at the assorted items on the desk in distaste. “I didn’t listen to any of that.”

“Good luck, then,” Calum says gleefully.

“Fuck you,” Michael mutters, picking up the yellow towel gingerly. “Is this to put the baby on or to wipe the baby’s arse with?”

“You tell me,” Calum says, grinning.

“I hate you,” Michael says, using two hands to tear the nappy Calum had forced onto the doll off and flinging it to one side.

“I don’t remember that being in the video,” Calum points out happily. Michael flips him off.

“What’s a baby going to care?” he says, picking up the talcum powder and eyeing it warily.

“You’re just going to talc the baby’s arse without wiping it first?” Calum asks.

“ _You_ do it, then,” Michael says moodily. Calum sits back with a grin, shaking his head.

“I’m here to critique,” he says. Michael scowls, and makes a show of wiping the doll with the yellow towel he’d picked up earlier.

“Happy?” he says, flinging the towel at Calum, who laughs and dodges it.

“I don’t think you’re meant to throw shit-covered towels around in real life,” he says, as Michael starts trying to force the new nappy onto the doll.

“What the fuck is wrong with this doll’s legs?” Michael grunts, ignoring Calum. “Is this nappy too small?”

“Are there nappy sizes?” Calum wonders.

“Do I look like I know that?” Michael says. “Fuck this. Is she looking?” Calum glances up and sees Miss Haydon is busy with Luke and Ashton, of all people – Luke seems to have somehow got both legs through one hole in the nappy.

“Nah,” he says.

“Thank fuck,” Michael says, sounding relieved, and turns the doll on its head to put the new nappy on it.

“That really is the most effective way of putting a nappy on,” Calum says thoughtfully. Michael opens his mouth to respond, but-

“What is this?” Miss Haydon, suddenly looming over them, asks threateningly. Calum follows her gaze to see the discarded nappy Michael had ripped off the doll earlier.

“She was having a tantrum,” Michael says breezily. “Ripped her nappy off.”

“Boys,” Miss Haydon says. “If you don’t start taking this assignment seriously, I _will_ force you to repeat it.” Calum’s stomach sinks. Right now, while everyone else in the year is wandering around with plastic babies, it’s not too bad, but if they were the only two in the entire school having to lug a doll around with them every day…

“We _are_ taking it seriously, Miss,” he argues. “We just don’t have good paternal instincts.”

“Turning a baby on its head to change its nappy isn’t a lack of paternal instinct, Calum, it’s a lack of common sense,” Miss Haydon tells him. Fuck. That woman has eyes in the back of her head.

“Well, we don’t have much of that either,” Michael puts in. Miss Haydon gives him a piercing stare of disapproval.

“This is your final warning,” she says. “Take it seriously, or you’ll be repeating the project.” Calum doesn’t doubt her.

“Fuck,” he says, when she walks away. “I don’t doubt her.”

“Yeah, me either,” Michael says grumpily, picking at a splinter on the table.

“We’ll just play along in class,” Calum suggests. “She can’t monitor what we do outside lessons.” Michael perks up a bit at that.

“Right,” he says, nodding. “And it’s only three more weeks.”

“Three more weeks,” Calum agrees.

\-------

Calum usually has football training on a Thursday, and Luke and Ashton usually mess around with the shitty instruments in the music block, waiting for him to finish so they can go to Luke’s house and play videogames together. Today, though, Calum’s coach is sick, so after a brief team talk from the captain football training is pushed to Friday. Calum, grateful that he doesn’t have to train in the sticky heat of the afternoon, heads over to the music block to collect his friends, praying they won’t be fucking in one of the practice rooms.

When he pushes open the doors, ready to shout for Luke and Ashton so he doesn’t have to kick open the door to every room with his eyes closed lest he see something he doesn’t want to, he hears someone in the room directly to his right playing a soft rendition of ‘Jasey Rae’. It sounds good, really fucking good, but beyond that, the voice sounds strangely familiar.

Calum edges over to the door, trying to simultaneously peek through the window and keep whoever’s in there unaware of his presence, which is much more difficult than it looks and makes him decide a career in spying is definitely not for him. He settles for standing to the right of the window, where the room’s occupant can’t see him, and quickly poking his head into the window for a split second to see who it is. He sees a flash of fluffy blonde hair, and it takes his brain a second to catch up with his eyes.

It’s Michael.

By the time Calum realises this, he also notices the playing has stopped.

“Are you just going to stand out there?” Michael calls from inside the room. Fuck. _Definitely_ not a career in spying, then.

“Maybe,” Calum shouts back. There’s a moment of quiet, and then the door opens.

“Don’t you have football practice?” Michael says, and his voice sounds a little raw, a little used. “It’s Thursday.”

“How do you know that?” Calum asks. Michael opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

“You mentioned,” he says. Calum doesn’t think he did, but whatever. “Why are you listening to me play?” Calum shrugs.

“You sound good,” he says honestly. Michael smiles, small and pleased.

“Yeah?” he says. Calum nods. “I usually play here a bit after school. Nothing special, but.” He shrugs.

“Can I listen?” Calum asks, without thinking that that’s a bit of an imposition on a guy he’s barely friends with. “I mean, like.” He doesn’t know what he means, but Michael seems to get it anyway.

“If you want,” he says, but the smile is still playing at his lips, and Calum can tell he’s pleased to be asked.

“Yeah,” Calum says, thinking _why not, Luke and Ashton think I’m at practice anyway_ , and Michael pushes the door open fully to let Calum in. He’s playing one of the battered guitars Calum always gets saddled with during music lessons when Luke snags the only one that was bought in the twenty-first century, and Calum throws it a look of distaste.

“The G on that one is fucked,” he says.

“Never stays in tune,” Michael agrees. “Wait, you play?” Calum nods.

“Not that well,” he says, and he’s not just being modest. He kinda sucks, but he enjoys it anyway. “I prefer bass.” Michael pulls a face.

“Bass is just for people who can’t play guitar,” he says. Calum scowls at him.

“Fuck you,” he says. “No it’s not.”

“Hey,” Michael says, pointing at his backpack. “Watch your language. Our kid’s in there.”

“I think we have bigger problems than my language if it’s shoved in a backpack,” Calum says.

“It’s a fucking doll,” Michael says, strumming an F sharp absent-mindedly.

“Language,” Calum chides, dodging the kick Michael aims at his shin.

“Fuck off,” Michael says pointedly. They fall into a slightly awkward silence for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say next.

“Do you take requests?” Calum asks eventually, just searching for something to say to break the silence, and Michael laughs.

“Depends,” he says. “What’s your request?” Calum shrugs.

“Didn’t think that far ahead,” he admits. Michael rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you play Jasey Rae again?” Michael nods, looking down at the guitar and clearing his throat.

“That’s Dear Maria, not Jasey Rae” Calum puts in. Michael meets his eyes again just to glower at him. “Sorry, sorry. It was funny, though.” Michael just rolls his eyes, looks back down at his guitar, positions his fingers on a D, and starts singing.

He doesn’t look at Calum while he’s singing – doesn’t look up from his hands, from the floor, from anywhere below his shoulders – and Calum can hear his voice wavering until he gets to the first chorus and starts getting a little more confident. Calum tries not to stare at him, at the way he scrunches his eyes when he’s hitting a particularly high note, at the light pink blush dusting his cheeks, at his thick, dark eyelashes lowered on his cheeks as he watches his fingers strum, but he has no idea where else to look. Michael’s kind of entrancing when he plays, amplified by the sound of his smooth, dark voice filling every inch of the space around the two of them. He’s a born performer.

Something about it flings a memory Calum had successfully repressed back to the forefront of his mind – Calum lying on Michael’s bed, drunk on Smirnoff Ice and laughter, while Michael softly sang ‘I Miss You’, with Calum gazing at Michael’s pink, parted lips and thinking _fuck, he’s kind of pretty when he sings._ It twists deep in the pits of his stomach, makes him feel guilty and sick, as though he’s done something wrong.

 _It was just the alcohol_ , he remembers telling himself the next morning, head pounding.

But he’s not drunk now.

“Well, shit,” is all Calum can think to say when the last notes ring out. Michael huffs out a laugh, stilling the strings with his right hand.

“Yeah?” he says, sounding nervous.

“You’re, like, really good at that,” Calum says, and Michael’s nervous laugh becomes a real, shy smile. Something about it makes Calum want to keep complimenting him. “Like, you should go professional.”

“Nah,” Michael says. “I’m not that good.”

“You are,” Calum presses. “I’d buy your album.”

“I don’t write,” Michael says.

“Well, I do,” Calum says. “You can sing my songs.” He’s going for joking, but it comes out serious.

“You write?” Michael says.

“Yeah,” Calum says, feeling suddenly stupid. Why the fuck did he tell Michael that? Even _Luke_ doesn’t know Calum writes, doesn’t know about little scraps of paper hidden hastily under his bed when Mali walks in without knocking. Michael cocks his head.

“Can I hear one?”

“No,” Calum says. “I- they’re not very good.” Michael looks at him for a moment, considering.

“I think they are,” he says, and he sounds sure about it.

“You’re just trying to butter me up so I take the doll for the weekend,” Calum says. Michael’s face splits into a mischievous grin.

“Speaking of the doll and the weekend,” he begins, and Calum reaches out to swat Michael’s arm. “Fuck you, I’m joking.”

“Shit,” Calum says, suddenly remembering. “We still haven’t done either of our two trips.”

“Well, what are you doing Saturday?” Michael asks.

“Can’t,” Calum says. “Going to the cinema with Luke and Ashton.”

“Alright, Sunday?” Calum nods. “Mine, two o’clock?”

“I’ll be coming straight from a match again, though,” Calum warns.

“Great,” Michael says. “Just when we got the stench of your sweaty feet out of the house.”

“I can go home and shower first,” Calum offers. “But then it’ll be more like three.”

“No,” Michael says, a strange look on his face. “You can shower at mine.” Calum shrugs.

“Sure,” he says. “Hey, how about Sick Little Games?” Michael throws him a grin, and Calum’s stomach tugs in a kind-of pleasant way.

“You have good taste,” Michael says, and starts playing.

Calum listens, and ignores the strange feeling in his stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii hope everyones quarantine is going well! mine is full of uni work which is not the most enjoyable thing in the world i cannot lie to you i dont really care about 11th century bishops but also being at home has given me a bit more time for writing so i have like...a lot of fics 
> 
> as always pls [talk to me](http://calumcest.tumblr.com) xo

Sunday comes around much faster than Calum had expected, and he finds himself, once again hot and sweaty, outside Michael’s house. It’s Michael who answers the door this time, much to Calum’s relief, wrinkling his nose as soon as he pulls the door open.

“You fucking stink,” he tells Calum, stepping aside to let him in.

“Hello to you too,” Calum mutters, shouldering past him.

“You know where the shower is,” Michael says. “I’ll be in my room.” He throws one last glance at Calum, and Calum sees his eyes flit from Calum’s face to his arms, legs, chest, and back to his face.

Whatever that means.

\-------

One incredibly hot shower later, Calum knocks on Michael’s door, barging in before Michael has time to reply.

“I brought my own clothes today,” he announces proudly.

“I see that,” Michael says. Calum gives his hair one final shake, and sits down on Michael’s bed.

“Where are we going?” he says. Michael looks surprised.

“What?” he asks. Calum looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“Outing, remember?” he says. “Neither of our parents will sign the slips unless we actually, y’know. Go out.”

“Oh, right,” Michael says, throwing a nasty look at the wardrobe. Calum assumes their doll is in there. “I dunno. Park?”

“Sure,” Calum says. “Isn’t it a bit hot for you to be outside, though?”

“What?”

“Like,” Calum says, nodding at Michael’s pale skin. “You kinda give off Dracula vibes. You got suncream?” Michael scowls, and chucks a cushion at him.

“I’m Australian,” he says sullenly.

“Yeah,” Calum says, “what about that makes you think you can take on the fucking sun?” Michael’s scowl deepens.

“Alright,” he says. “Where do you suggest, then?” Calum shrugs.

“Aquarium might be nice?” he says. Michael scoffs.

“Where am I going to get, like, eighty dollars from?” he asks.

“Fair point,” Calum says, sighing. “Park it is, then.”

\-------

Neither of them bring their IDs so have to bribe someone into buying them alcohol again (“to make our parenting time slightly more bearable”, Michael had said). The doll comes out of Michael’s backpack for the sole reason that they need space for the alcohol, and they squabble quickly over who has to carry it before Calum gives in and grabs it by the leg, swinging it at his side as he walks. They manage to find a shady spot to sit in the park – a cluster of four trees providing shade as the sun moves – and spread themselves out, placing the doll at their feet.

“This is nice,” Michael hums, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Calum takes a swig from his can of cider.

“I can think of ways I’d rather spend my Sunday afternoon than chaperoning a plastic doll,” he says.

“Look on the bright side,” Michael murmurs, not opening his eyes. He looks like he’s sunbathing, but they’re in the shade. Calum has no idea what to make of Michael, sometimes. “You get to spend it with me.”

“Yeah, that’s not high on my list either,” Calum says. Michael opens his eyes just to throw Calum a glare, then shuts them again. 

“You should sing me one of your songs,” he says.

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for that,” Calum says, taking another swig of cider as he feels his cheeks heat up. 

“So get drunker,” Michael suggests.

“‘m trying,” Calum grumbles. “Can’t drink too fast or I’ll just throw it back up.” Michael pulls a face.

“Nice,” he deadpans. “Hand me a can.” Calum obliges.

“Don’t get too drunk, though,” Michael says, after a minute. “Mum won’t sign the slip otherwise.” Calum groans.

“This fucking assignment,” he mutters. “Can’t do _anything_ fun.”

“Yeah, and we’re doing less than the bare minimum,” Michael says, sipping his cider. “How d’you think the people that are taking it seriously are coping?” Calum huffs out a laugh.

“Luke tried to make us go and watch some G-rated kids movie for James yesterday,” he says. “Even Ashton thought that was a bit far.”

“James?” Michael enquires.

“Their doll,” Calum explains.

“Our doll needs a name,” Michael says. “What sort of parents are we, giving her tattoos before a name?”

“ _We_? Speak for yourself,” Calum says.

“How about Stephanie?” Michael suggests, as if Calum hadn’t even spoken.

“What, like Stephanie Linton?” Calum asks, thinking of the curly-haired girl in his Maths class.

“Alright, maybe not Stephanie,” Michael says.

“How about Jasey?” Calum suggests. A small smile creeps onto Michael’s face, and Calum downs a good quarter of his cider to try and stop himself thinking about what it might mean.

“Yeah,” Michael says. “Jasey’s good.”

\-------

“Hey,” Michael says lazily a few hours later. They’re both lying on the grass, staring up at the foliage rustling in the slight breeze above them, and Calum’s skin is pleasantly warm from the alcohol, his thoughts hazy, tinged with the edge of a buzz. “Jasey fell over.” Calum snorts.

“She fell over, like, an hour ago,” he says.

“Good thing you were there for her,” Michael deadpans.

“At least I noticed,” Calum shoots back.

“I was busy,” Michael says.

“You were trying to make a pyramid out of our cans,” Calum says.

“And?” Michael says. “That’s being busy.” Calum finds himself grinning, despite himself.

“You’re funny,” he says, blurting the first thought that comes to mind.

“I know,” Michael says, but Calum can hear the edge of a smile curling around his words.

“Humble, too,” Calum says sarcastically. “Your best trait.” Michael hums.

“Oh, I dunno,” he says, mock-thoughtful. “I think there’s quite a few contenders.” Calum kicks out at his leg lazily.

“Shouldn’t we go back soon?” he says.

“That depends,” Michael says. “Do you want to get yelled at by my mum for being drunk, or do you want to enjoy your evening?”

“I’m not _drunk_ ,” Calum says. “Tipsy, maybe.”

“Well, _I’m_ drunk,” Michael declares.

“Lightweight,” Calum mumbles, moving his legs out of the way of Michael’s inevitable kick.

“Come back,” Michael demands. “Let me kick you.”

“No,” Calum says, holding his legs over to his right protectively. “My career depends on these.”

“Are you actually going to go pro?” Michael asks.

“Maybe,” Calum says, but he feels that little twist in his stomach that he feels every time he thinks about it, every time he’s honest with himself. “Coach says I’m good enough.”

“That’s pretty sick,” Michael says, sounding sincere.

“Yeah,” Calum says.

“But?” Michael says, after a moment of silence.

“But?” Calum echoes, confused.

“Well,” Michael says. “You’re not very enthusiastic for someone who’s been told they could make a living out of football. There’s got to be a ‘but’.” Calum bites his lip.

“I love football,” he says. “I just…I love music, too. Luke and Ashton and I, we’re in a band? And, like. We’re alright. We post on YouTube, and stuff, and.” He shrugs, even though Michael can’t see him. “Like, we’re getting more and more of an audience. I just don’t want it to get to a point where I have to choose between the two.” Michael’s silent for a minute, and Calum starts sobering up a little, thinking fuck, why did he _say that_ , that’s way too heavy for someone he only spoke to properly for the first time last week.

“You’ll make the right choice,” Michael says, and his voice is gentle, but confident. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll never have to give up either completely. You’ll know which one’s the right choice when it comes to it.”

“I hope so,” Calum says, and he hears the edge of helplessness in his own voice.

“Hey,” Michael says, a little sternly. “You will.”

And somehow, Calum believes him. Something in the conviction with which he says it, the gentleness of his tone, and possibly the alcohol coursing through Calum’s veins, dulls the twisting in Calum’s stomach and sends a wave of warmth crashing over him. Something about Michael, he thinks a little drunkenly, feels a little bit like home.

“Thanks, Michael,” he says, finding himself smiling up at the quickly darkening canopy of trees, and for some reason oddly glad Michael can’t see. He figures now is a safe moment to bring his legs back, because no one would kick someone after such a heart-warming moment, so he tentatively places them back in front of him – only to immediately be kicked by Michael.

“Thought I’d forget?” Michael says, and Calum turns his head to see Michael grinning at him in the twilight.

“Bastard,” Calum says, but he’s grinning too. Michael’s eyes are glinting in the low light, looking less like the sea-green they do in the day and a little more like moss.

“Your eyes look like moss,” Calum says. Michael scowls.

“You’re fucking rude,” he says.

“In a good way,” Calum protests, but Michael’s not having it.

“I give you a pep talk and you tell me my eyes look like _moss_?” he says, jabbing a finger at Calum. They’re so close that his finger almost gouges Calum’s eye out, and he flinches.

“Mind my fucking eye,” he says. Michael jabs at him again, actually poking Calum’s eye this time, and Calum’s hand flies up to his eye protectively. “Ow, what the fuck?”

“Oops,” Michael says, not sounding sorry at all, and then he giggles. “I’m…yeah, I’m fucking drunk.”

“You’re literally such a lightweight,” Calum grumbles, blinking tentatively. “I’m barely even tipsy.” It’s not quite true – he’s starting to feel a little heady.

“I’m a cheap date,” Michael says, and Calum’s stomach flips in a not-altogether-unpleasant way.

“Should have at least taken you to dinner first,” he jokes. Michael grins at him.

“You still can,” he says. “It’s only eight.”

\-------

“Luke,” Calum says loudly, slamming the door to the pizza place open with a little more force than strictly necessary. Luke, standing idly behind the till, jumps in surprise.

“Cal?” he says.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Obviously.”

“And me,” Michael says.

“And Michael,” Calum adds.

“And Michael…?” Luke echoes, sounding confused. “Uh…can I, like, help you?”

“We want pizza,” Calum informs him.

“We?” Luke asks doubtfully.

“Calum’s taking me on a date,” Michael says, Jasey dangling by her foot in his hand. His eyes are glassy, and his cheeks are flushed, and Calum wants to be close to him.

“We got drunk,” Calum tells Luke, by way of an explanation. Luke nods slowly, not taking his eyes off of Michael, and it strikes Calum that he hasn’t actually told Luke that him and Michael are, like, kind-of friends now.

“A date,” he repeats. “You’re drunk and on a date with Michael Clifford.” Calum feels slightly offended by that.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, affronted. “What’s wrong with Michael?” Luke throws him a strange look.

“We’ll talk about it when you’re sober,” he says. “Now, please fucking order, because I want you gone as soon as possible.”

“That’s not very nice,” Michael puts in. “And he’s your friend, Cal?” The nickname runs smooth off Michael’s tongue, soft like velvet, and Calum wants him to say it again.

“You’re both my friends,” Calum says. Michael beams at him.

“Is that your baby?” Luke says, eyeing Jasey with a mixture of horror and distress. Michael holds her up at eye level, her limbs swinging with the momentum.

“Yeah,” he says. “Pretty sweet, right?”

“Oh my God,” Luke mutters. “You’re holding him by his _foot_.”

“Her,” Calum corrects.

“Jasey,” Michael says. “Like Jasey Rae.”

“Wow,” Luke deadpans, turning to Calum. “Super original, Cal.”

“Hey,” Calum says. “Both of us chose it.”

“Right,” Luke says slowly. “Are you going to order now?” Calum nods.

“I’ll take a pepperoni,” he says.

“Hawaiian, please,” Michael says. Calum whips around to look at him in shock.

“What the fuck?” he says, aghast. “I wouldn’t have taken you here if I’d known you were going to order _pineapple_.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with you if I’d known you were going to call my eyes _moss_ and introduce me to your rude friends,” Michael says.

“I’m sorry about him,” Calum says loudly to Luke, and Michael flips him off.

“I can speak for myself,” he says.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t,” Calum says pointedly. He looks back at Luke, noting the strange look on his face, and adds: “What?”

“Nothing,” Luke says, raising his eyebrows. “One pepperoni and one Hawaiian, then.”

“Yes,” Michael says, before Calum can jump in and change his order.

“That’ll be thirteen dollars,” Luke says, holding his hand out. Michael gapes at Calum as he hands over the money.

“Thirteen?” he says.

“Mates rates,” Calum tells Michael smugly.

“I’ll bring them over when they’re ready,” Luke says. “Now fuck off.” He disappears into the back without another word, and Michael rounds on Calum.

“I would have befriended you way sooner if I knew you had these kinds of connections,” he says.

“You could have just befriended Luke,” Calum points out, making his way over to the bench in the corner to wait for their pizzas. Michael pulls a face.

“He’s rude,” he says, following in Calum’s wake.

“He’s nice when you get to know him,” Calum protests. Michael snorts.

“Yeah, well,” he says, waving his hands around, as if that’s a sufficient answer. Calum opens his mouth to retort, but instead finds his eyes drawn to the flush of Michael’s cheeks, the soft pink colour offsetting the pale white. _He’s pretty_ , a drunken thought tells Calum.

“What?” Michael asks, defensively.

“Huh?”

“You’re staring.” Calum looks away, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

“No I’m not,” he says. His gut twists uncomfortably. He _was_ staring. At Michael.

“Yes, you are,” Michael insists. “What? Have I got something on my face?”

“No,” Calum says. “You just look fucking drunk.” Michael scowls.

“I do not,” he says, and he’s pouting slightly.

 _He’s got pretty lips_.

“See?” Michael crows, pointing at Calum. “You’re fucking staring, Cal.” _Cal_. Calum’s not sure whether the warmth in his stomach is the alcohol, the expectation of pizza, or hearing Michael say his name like that.

“I’m fucking not,” Calum huffs. “You’re so arrogant. What the fuck would I be staring at you for?” Michael bats his eyelashes.

“We’re on a date,” he says, grinning. “You’re staring because I’m pretty.” Calum’s heart skips a beat.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, hoping it comes off as sarcastic rather than slightly panicked.

“Here,” Luke says, suddenly looming over them, thrusting two pizzas at them. Michael grabs them hungrily, opening the first one to sniff at it delightedly. Calum looks up at Luke, ready to thank him, and is greeted with a piercing stare.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Luke says. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” Calum shrugs, but something about Luke’s tone tells him this isn’t just going to be a friendly chat.

“C’mon,” Calum says to Michael, who gets up, grabbing Jasey by her head and making Luke wince. “Let’s go back to yours. Think you can sober up enough on the way to make it past your mum?”

“Nope,” Michael says cheerily.

“Great,” Calum grumbles. “Fucking hell. Next time we’re not drinking. Bye, Luke.” He waves over his shoulder as he follows Michael out of the pizza place.

“You’re welcome for the pizza!” Luke throws back sarcastically, and Calum flips him off.

\-------

They only make it past Mrs Clifford because Calum’s good at acting sober, and because he says he’ll stay over and get Michael to school the next day since she has to go to work early.

(“I’ll sign your excursion slip the day you go out and come home sober,” she tells them sternly. Calum thinks they might be stuck doing this project until they finish school.)

“I have pyjamas,” Michael says vaguely, when they get to his room.

“Nice,” Calum says. “Wanna tell me where they are?” 

“No,” Michael says. “You can sleep in your boxers.” Calum wrinkles his nose.

“Fuck,” he says. “Can I borrow boxers?” Michael snorts.

“Yeah,” he says, waving at the chest of drawers in the corner. “Take whatever.” Calum rifles through a few drawers, finds some inoffensive black boxers and some plaid pyjama bottoms, and checks Michael’s back is turned before quickly shucking his jeans off (well, as quickly as skinny jeans go) and getting the boxers and pyjamas on.

“Are we sharing?” he asks, pointing to Michael’s double bed. Michael shrugs.

“You alright with that?” he says. Calum nods.

“I’m a cuddler, though,” he warns. Michael grins.

“That’s fine,” he says. “I get cold. Aren’t you going to put a shirt on?”

“Do I have to?” Calum asks. “I get hot.” Michael’s eyes flit over Calum’s chest, and Calum feels oddly exposed, even though he’s shirtless in front of his teammates, like, all the time. Something about this feels more intimate.

“Suppose not,” he says, as Calum crosses his arms over his chest protectively. “Hey, you should probably tell your parents you’re not coming home.”

“Shit,” Calum says, because somehow he’d been so caught up in Michael’s company that he hadn’t even thought of that. “Yeah.” He fishes his phone out of the jeans that are now crumpled on the floor and fires off a quick text to his mum, telling her not to worry, he won’t be coming home tonight because he’s staying over at his partner’s house, before flinging himself down on Michael’s bed.

“Make yourself at home,” Michael says sarcastically. “You should give me your number, by the way.”

“Bit demanding,” Calum says, staring at the ceiling.

“You’re a dick,” Michael tells him. “Give me your number.” Calum chucks his phone in Michael’s general direction.

“Text yourself,” he says. “Don’t save yourself as anything questionable.”

“Define questionable,” Michael says, and Calum can hear the smirk in his voice. He sighs, knowing it’s not even worth fighting him on. He can always just change it back later.

“Come to bed,” he says instead, attempting to articulate _I want to get ready to sleep_ and not entirely sure why it comes out like that.

“ _I’m_ demanding?” Michael says, but he sets Calum’s phone on his bedside table and gets into bed, making Calum shuffle up to the side closest to the wall. “It’s only ten p.m.”

“Yeah, but I’m tired,” Calum says, pulling the cover up to his chin. “Hanging out with you is exhausting.” Michael elbows him, and Calum squawks, jerking away from him and kicking his thigh in the process.

“Ow!” Michael complains, flicking Calum’s arm.

“You brought that on yourself,” Calum tells him, rubbing the spot on his arm Michael had just flicked.

“You’re the worst bed-partner,” Michael declares.

“I’ve only been in here two minutes,” Calum says.

“Exactly,” Michael says. Calum opens his mouth to respond, but there’s a sharp rap at the door, and then without waiting for a response Mrs Clifford is opening the door, letting light from the hallway spill into the room.

“You forgot your baby downstairs,” she says disapprovingly, eyeing the messy floor. “And pick up your jeans, Michael.”

“They’re not mine,” Michael says smugly.

“Sorry, Mrs Clifford,” Calum mutters, clambering over Michael to get out of bed and hastily fold his jeans.

“I’ve told you, Calum, it’s Karen,” Mrs Clifford says, holding out Jasey in her arms for Calum to take. Calum instinctively reaches for Jasey’s arm, but thinks better of it at the last moment, and holds his own arms out for Mrs Clifford to transfer Jasey into. Michael snorts behind him, and Calum throws him a glare.

“Try not to go to bed too late, boys,” Mrs Clifford says, throwing them one final piercing stare before closing the door, leaving Calum standing in the middle of Michael’s dark room with a plastic doll cradled in his arms.

“You look kind of cute,” are not the words he expects Michael to say.

“Huh?” is all his tipsy brain can formulate in response. Michael, from what Calum can make out of him in the dark, looks a little embarrassed.

“Just…you look kind of cute,” he says, shrugging. “Like, domestic-cute.”

“Well,” Calum says, nonplussed. “Thanks?” Michael won’t meet his gaze, and Calum cocks his head, wondering why he’s so embarrassed.

“Put her down,” he grumbles. “I want to sleep.” Calum rolls his eyes but chucks Jasey on the floor and clambers back over Michael, ignoring his indignant noises.

“What happened to ‘it’s only ten p.m.’?” Calum asks, snuggling down in the bed.

“It’s ten-fifteen now,” Michael says primly. Calum can’t help but laugh.

“Go to fucking sleep,” he says, rolling over to face the wall, but he’s grinning.

“Night,” Michael says, sounding like he’s stifling a yawn.

“Night, Mikey,” Calum says.

(He doesn’t even register the nickname.)

\-------

Calum thinks it’s a fucking miracle Michael ever makes it to school.

It takes ten minutes of Calum chivvying him to get him out of bed, another ten to get him dressed, a solid twenty to get him to make and eat breakfast, and they have to turn back twice because Michael forgets both his phone and his entire _bag_. Somehow, despite all of that, they’re only fifteen minutes late to their first lessons, which are Maths for Calum and English for Michael.

“See you later,” Michael says, when they make it to the corridor where they diverge, and tears off to the right without waiting for Calum to reply. Calum sprints off to the left, knocking on the door to his classroom and sidling in before Mr Henderson can say anything about it, mumbling an apology for his lateness as he slips into his seat next to Luke, who gives him a disapproving stare. Calum’s had quite a lot of those lately.

“Why are you late?” Luke whispers.

“Michael can’t open his fucking eyes before two p.m.,” Calum whispers back, getting his book out.

“You _slept_ at _Michael’s_?” Luke whispers loudly, making Stephanie Linton turn around and glare at them. Calum shushes him quickly, and then adds-

“Yeah, he was drunk,” Calum says, shrugging, trying to jot down the quadratic formula Mr Henderson’s writing on the board.

“We’re going to talk about this,” Luke says, grabbing Calum’s book off him and correcting at least three numbers. Calum loves Luke.

“I love you,” Calum says fervently, and then his mind catches up with his ears. “Wait, why?”

“ _Because_ \- Cal, are you insane?”

“Luke, Calum,” Mr Henderson says sternly, and they lapse into guilty silence.

“Later,” Luke hisses, when Mr Henderson turns his back again.

Something tells Calum he is _not_ going to like this conversation.

\-------

It’s lunchtime when Luke finally catches up with Calum.

“Alright, what the fuck?” he demands, slamming his tray of food down on the table and making Calum jump.

“Is this chicken?” Calum says hopefully, holding up a nugget.

“No,” Luke says. “It’s, fucking, bone and feathers, or something.” Calum looks at it for a moment, and then takes a bite.

“Still tastes good,” he says, through his mouthful of food.

“You’re disgusting,” Luke tells him. “And you’re not getting out of this conversation.”

“What conversation?” Calum says. “There’s nothing to converse about.”

“You and Michael Clifford.” Calum shrugs.

“What about us?”

“Well, since when is there an _us_?” Luke demands.

“He’s my partner for the doll project, you know that,” Calum says, through another mouthful of chicken nugget. Luke pulls a face.

“Don’t chew with your mouth open,” he says.

“Alright, _mum_ ,” Calum grumbles, reaching for one of Luke’s chips.

“C’mon, Cal,” Luke says. “You were on a _date_.”

“We weren’t,” Calum says.

“Seemed like you were,” Luke says.

“It was a _joke_ , Luke,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “Remind me to tell you about them one day.”

“He called you _Cal_ ,” Luke says. “You didn’t let me call you Cal for, like, two years.” Calum shrugs, but he doesn’t meet Luke’s eyes.

“I get on with him,” is all he can think to say.

“Calum,” Luke says, and his tone is serious. “You’re not like this with people.”

“Well, clearly I am,” Calum says, a touch defensively. “Why the fuck do I need to justify myself to you?”

“I’m not- look, I just…do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Luke asks.

“What, with _Michael_?” Calum says, exasperated. “Luke, it’s Michael. He’s not exactly, like, bad boy of the century, or anything. I’m not about to start snorting cocaine off his tits.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Luke sighs. “I just mean…I’ve not seen you like this with anyone before. You’re so comfortable with him.”

“Yeah, well,” Calum says, avoiding Luke’s gaze.

“What?” Luke prompts.

“Nothing,” Calum says, trying to suppress all the drunken thoughts he’s had about Michael that are suddenly threatening to surface. _He’s pretty. He’s got pretty lips. He feels like home_.

“C’mon, Cal,” Luke says gently. “I’m your best friend.” Calum swallows.

 _I’m a bit afraid of how he makes me feel_ , is what he tries to say.

“Nothing,” is what comes out again, instead. Luke sighs, leaning back in his seat.

“Alright,” he says, and Calum loves him a little bit for not pushing. “But I’m here when you want to talk about it.”

Calum doesn’t think he ever will, because there’s nothing to it, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

\-------

“I gave Jasey some more tattoos,” is how Michael greets him in their lesson on Tuesday. Calum groans, slinging his bag under the table and sitting down next to Michael.

“She’s going to kill us,” he says, eyeing Miss Haydon warily.

“She’s not going to know,” Michael says confidently. “As if she kept track of which tattoos Jasey already had.” Calum casts a glance down at Jasey, lying haphazardly on the desk in front of them. All he can see is some extra squiggles on her arms.

“You’re not a very good artist,” he tells Michael, who pouts.

“ _You’re_ not a very good _friend_ ,” Michael retorts, snatching Jasey away from Calum’s gaze. Calum opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by Miss Haydon clapping her hands and asking everybody to settle down. He takes a look at the board – fucking hell, feeding – and decides now is an apt time to zone out and get some microsleep.

“Pay attention,” he says to Michael. “I’m going to nap.” He closes his eyes, ignoring Michael’s noise of outrage.

“What if I wanted to nap?” Michael hisses.

“First come first served,” Calum says nonchalantly, not opening his eyes. Michael says nothing, but Calum can pretty much hear him seething to his right.

He’s actually almost drifting off to sleep, Miss Haydon’s voice becoming a lull of white noise, when Michael elbows him and his eyes fly open, just as the class starts buzzing with chatter.

“We have to feed her,” Michael says.

“Right,” Calum says. “Well. I don’t have tits, so.”

“Neither do I,” Michael says. “Guess she’s going to starve. Sorry, Jasey. Been nice knowing you.” He pats her on the head, and she falls forwards, plastic face hitting the desk.

“Well, at least we can sit this lesson out,” Calum says cheerily.

“You will do no such thing,” Miss Haydon says from behind them, and Calum’s eyes flutter shut in annoyance. Fucking hell.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Michael mutters, and Calum wholeheartedly agrees. He hears Miss Haydon bustling over in front of their desk, and opens his eyes again. She’s standing in front of them, somehow glaring at the two of them at once.

“Had you been listening, Michael, Calum, you would have heard me explaining formula, and how to mix it,” she says sternly. “There are bottles over there.” She sends them one final glare, and then moves onto the two girls next to them.

“You just shouldn’t speak anymore,” Michael says, scraping his stool back. “She’s got, like, a telepathic connection to you, I swear.”

“I fucking hope not,” Calum says, following Michael over to where Miss Haydon had indicated the bottles were. Everyone else has already been and got theirs, so they’re the only two standing there. “I don’t want her seeing some of the shit I think about.” Michael’s lips quirk up in a grin.

“Wank bank?” he asks, grabbing the last packet of formula and bottle of water, and Calum scowls as he picks up one of the empty bottles.

“I meant how much I fucking hate her,” he says.

“What’s in your wank bank?” Michael asks, sounding intrigued, as they walk back to their desk.

“Ask me when I’m drunk,” Calum says. “Here, how the fuck do you attach this teat thing to the bottle?”

“Like this, idiot,” Michael says, snatching it out of Calum’s hands and screwing it on. “I think I was supposed to wash my hands before touching it, though.”

“Oh, well,” Calum says, shrugging. “Builds her immune system.” Michael snorts, ripping open the box of formula and fumbling around for the scoop.

“How much do you reckon we need?” he asks, eyeing the humungous scoop he’s just taken out. Calum shrugs, unscrewing the teat from the bottle again and filling it almost to the brim with water.

“That’ll do,” he says, expecting Michael to put about half in, but Michael shrugs and dumps the entire thing in the almost-full bottle, which of course immediately overflows, covering their desk with lumpy, powdery formula.

“Fuck!” Calum shouts, jumping back from the desk and making at least three people near them turn around. “You’re a fucking idiot, Michael.”

“What the fuck?” Michael says, reaching for Jasey and pulling off her trousers, using them to mop up the mess. “ _You_ told me it was alright.”

“Yeah, I thought you understood the basic laws of physics and would realise it would overflow if you put all of it in,” Calum shoots back, grabbing Jasey’s coat off her and mopping up what Michael hadn’t reached.

“Basic laws of physics, look at you,” Michael retorts, rolling his eyes and grimacing as the soggy mess hits his fingers. “Not all of us have brain cells.” Calum snorts at that, flinging the now-soaking and smelly jacket to the far corner of the desk with a grim expression.

“Evidently,” he says pointedly.

“What on _Earth_ is going on here?” Miss Haydon booms, looming over them all of a sudden, and both Michael and Calum shrink back guiltily.

“We put in too much,” Calum explains, not trusting Michael to hold his tongue in front of her.

“And that explains why your doll is naked how?” Miss Haydon demands.

“Well, she doesn’t mind, does she?” Michael says, pointing at where the doll is still lying face first on the desk. Miss Haydon gives them both a piercing stare.

“Go to the bathroom and clean these clothes,” she says. “And both of you are in detention.”

Fuck.

\-------

‘Go to the bathroom and clean these clothes’ of course translates as ‘Calum, clean the clothes while Michael leans against the sink next to you and does absolutely nothing’.

“That looks disgusting,” Michael says, eyeing the clothes Calum’s currently running under the tap.

“Yeah, thanks for giving me a hand,” Calum says sarcastically, wringing out the jacket and deciding despite the lingering odd smell it’ll do. Mum can always put them in the washing machine, he figures.

“I’m motivating you,” Michael argues. “That’s an equally important job.”

“Yeah, really helps get the clothes washed,” Calum says.

“I can’t believe we got fucking detention for this,” Michael says, blowing his fringe out of his eyes.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t told us to re-do the whole project yet,” Calum admits, rubbing soap into the trousers. Michael wrinkles his nose as he watches.

“I hope she doesn’t,” he says fervently. “Hey, at least she didn’t notice the new tattoos though, right?”

“Not _yet_ ,” Calum mutters darkly, because that woman seriously does have eyes in the back of her head.

“Always the optimist,” Michael says, and Calum can hear the grin in his voice.

“You bring out the best in me,” Calum deadpans, expecting Michael to flick him on the arm, or something, and looking up when nothing comes. Michael’s staring at Calum, an odd expression on his face.

“We’re friends now, right?” Michael says suddenly, and Calum blinks.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah? I mean. Like. I like you?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question.

“Oh,” Michael says, a small smile unfurling on his lips. “Cool.”

“Why?” Calum wants to know. Michael shrugs, a slight flush rising to his cheeks, and looks away from Calum at the mirrors, which is fucking stupid because Calum just makes eye contact with him through the mirror instead.

“Dunno,” Michael says unconvincingly.

“C’mon,” Calum says, looking down and rubbing more soap into the trousers, because they’d born the brunt of the mopping up and it shows. “Why?” Michael shrugs, and bites his lip. Calum knows by now to wait it out, keeps patiently looking at Michael, until he sighs.

“I don’t have any friends,” Michael mumbles eventually.

“I know,” Calum says.

“What?”

“I mean, like. I’ve never seen you hanging out with anyone.” Michael frowns.

“You been stalking me?”

“ _No_ , I just…like, we go to the same school, you get to know who hangs out with who,” Calum says.

“And you don’t think it makes me a loser?” Michael asks. Calum turns off the water, suddenly serious, and meets Michael’s eyes in the mirror again. “You don’t think that, do you?” Michael asks again, only this time it’s with an edge of anxiety.

“‘Course I don’t, Mikey,” Calum says gently, the nickname slipping out before he can stop himself. “I don’t fucking care whether you hang out with Alex Gaskarth or whether you hang out with absolutely nobody. I’m friends with you because of _you_ , not your, like, social status, or whatever. I don’t give a fuck about that.”

“Yeah?” Michael says, and there’s a definite flush to his cheeks now, and he’s biting back a pleased smile. Calum sighs, wringing out the trousers, and setting them to one side.

“Look,” he says. “I don’t- I’m going to say this once, alright, and you’re not allowed to laugh at me, because I’m being really fucking nice to you right now.” He pauses, and Michael nods, and Calum takes a deep breath. “I don’t get like this with people. It took me two years to let Luke call me Cal, and it’s taken me two weeks to feel comfortable with you saying it. I don’t just…I don’t just get this open with people, this comfortable. You just…I don’t know. It’s- I don’t know how to say it other than you kind of feel like home.” He swallows, wondering if that’s too much, and chances a look at Michael, who’s pink-cheeked and smiling ear to ear.

“You’re a fucking cutie,” Michael says, still grinning, and Calum’s heart is sort of bursting at how happy he looks, like he’s being lit up from the inside out.

“Shut up,” Calum mumbles, feeling colour rise to his own cheeks. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Michael says. “I mean, it kind of goes without saying that I don’t get comfortable with people quickly either, given that I don’t have any friends, so. Same, I guess?”

“Same?” Calum says, mock-annoyed, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from admitting that Michael feels like home to his face. “I give you all that, and all I get is _same_?” Michael rolls his eyes, still smiling.

“I’ve never wanted to spend time with anyone as much as I do with you,” he says. “Like. More than I want to sleep, or play videogames. I’d rather just be with you.” Calum’s stomach swoops, and he finds himself grinning inanely.

“That’s better,” he says, wringing out the trousers just as the bell rings. “Fuck. You wanna hang out with me, Luke and Ash at lunch?” Michael hesitates, then nods.

“Are you sure they won’t mind?” he says. Calum shakes his head, grabbing the jacket and throwing the two damp items at Michael.

“Nah,” he says. “They’ll probably be too busy staring lovingly into each other’s eyes to even notice you’re there.” Michael grins, and Calum grins back, the butterfly feeling still there in his stomach.

Somehow, it feels like they’ve both confessed something, but Calum’s not sure what.

\-------

“Hey,” Calum says, slamming down his tray on the table and making both Luke and Ashton jump. “Michael’s joining us for lunch.”

“Oh, _Michael_ ,” Ashton says, raising his eyebrows. Calum scowls.

“I want you to behave,” he says, mostly to Luke. “Michael’s my friend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ashton says, picking up a chip off Calum’s plate. Calum slaps his hand away.

“I always behave,” Luke protests, and Calum just about has time to throw him a disbelieving look before Michael, a few people behind Calum in the queue, is hovering tentatively at the table.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m Michael.”

“We met,” Luke says, dipping a chip in mayonnaise. “You were kind of drunk, though.”

“Sit,” Calum says, motioning for Michael to sit down next to him. He does, shuffling close to Calum on the small bench, their thighs almost touching. Calum doesn’t know why he notices that.

“Yeah, I was pretty fucking drunk,” Michael admits, and Calum snorts. “Hey, thanks for the pizza, though.”

“No worries,” Luke says, but he sounds a little suspicious.

“So, Michael,” Ashton says, grinning at him, dimples and all. “You’re Calum’s partner for the doll project, right? How’s he treating you?”

“Terribly,” Michael says, shaking his head as he digs into his sandwich. “You wouldn’t believe the abuse I have to put up with on a daily basis.” Calum squawks indignantly, elbowing Michael.

“ _I_ treat you terribly?” he says. “Who mopped up our spilt baby formula with Jasey’s clothes and then left _me_ to wash them in the bathroom?”

“Oh, _that’s_ where you went,” Luke says.

“Jasey?” Ashton asks.

“Our doll,” Michael says.

“Like Jasey Rae?” Michael and Calum both nod, and Ashton’s face splits into another grin. “That’s fucking cool, bro.”

“I suggested it,” Calum says.

“Yeah, because you heard _me_ playing it,” Michael says.

“You play?” Luke asks, suddenly interested. Michael nods. “What?”

“Guitar, mostly,” Michael says. “I can fuck around on drums, too, but pretty badly.”

“Sweet,” Ashton says approvingly. “I play drums.”

“Oh, hey, yeah, you’re a band, right?” Michael says, throwing a glance at Calum. “Cal told me.” Ashton’s eyebrows raise imperceptibly at the use of the nickname, but Calum ignores the questioning glance he sends his way.

“Yeah,” Calum says.

“Actually, we’re looking for another guitarist,” Luke says slowly, and Calum almost chokes on his water. Is that an olive branch from Luke Hemmings? “Would you, like. Be interested?”

“Are you kidding me?” Michael says, half in disbelief, half in excitement. “Fucking hell, dude. I’d love that.” Luke grins, and Michael grins back, and for the first time, Calum breathes easily.

“Sweet,” Luke says. “Does Friday after school work for you?” Michael nods.

“Cool,” Ashton says, all enthusiastic in the way that only Ashton can be. “Hey, has anyone done the Chemistry homework?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me being productive during quarantine? Yes but only with fics nobody look at my unwritten essays 
> 
> i actually had another like 3 scenes on this one but i decided it was long enough and this was the only good place to cut it off SO there may be another chapter around the corner fairly soon but do not hold me to that 
> 
> as always pls [talk to me](http://calumcest.tumblr.com) xo
> 
> pls stay safe & healthy x

Calum’s phone buzzes with a text from Michael for the first time on Thursday, just before the end of school.

**_Jaseys favourite dad_** _  
hey whos got jasey this weekend i forgot_

Calum rolls his eyes when he sees the name pop up on his phone.

**_Me_ ** _  
“Jasey’s favourite dad”?_

**_Jaseys favourite dad_ ** _  
you gonna answer my question_

**_Me_ ** _  
Think it’s probably me now_

**_Jaseys favourite dad_ ** _  
sweet_

**_Jaseys favourite dad_ ** _  
you wanna text me your address and i’ll come round on sunday? 2?_

**_Me_ ** _  
Why don’t we go somewhere instead?_

**_Jaseys favourite dad_ ** _  
we’ve been over this_

**_Jaseys favourite dad_ ** _  
nowhere to go when you’re broke_

**_Jaseys favourite dad_ ** _  
happy to get drunk again tho_

**_Me_ ** _  
Absolutely not_

**_Me_ ** _  
How about the cinema?_

**_Jaseys favourite dad_ ** _  
is there anything good on?_

Luke elbows Calum while he’s halfway through typing his reply, and Calum quickly slips his phone under his thigh as Mrs Peters walks past their desk.

“Is that Michael?” Luke whispers, nodding at Calum’s leg. Calum nods.

“Just wants to know who’s got Jasey this weekend,” he says, aiming for casual. Luke hesitates for a split second, then grins and turns back to his work. Calum decides not to think about that.

**_Me_ ** _  
How about Wolf of Wall Street?_

**_Jaseys favourite dad_ ** _  
hell fucking yeah_

**_Me_ ** _  
I’ll bring Jasey_

**_Jaseys favourite dad_ ** _  
it’s a date_

Calum finds himself grinning, a swooping feeling in his stomach, and pushes it straight into a box labelled ‘Think About In, Like, Thirty Years’.

\-------

Friday afternoon rolls around a lot quicker than Calum had expected.

Calum’s bickering with Luke about who should sing the second verse in their cover of ‘I Miss You’ when there’s a tentative knock at the door to the practice room.

“Yeah?” Calum calls, briefly forgetting that they’d invited Michael to potentially join their band, and being momentarily surprised when he sees him peek around the door. “Oh, Michael. Hey.”

“Hi,” Ashton says, grinning brightly, and Michael shuffles into the room a little hesitantly. Calum can see one of Jasey’s legs sticking out of Michael’s bag. “Tell Luke that Calum should sing the second verse of ‘I Miss You’.”

“Hey,” Luke says, a touch stroppily, crossing his arms with a frown.

“You’re already taking the first verse, Luke,” Ashton says, exasperated.

“I have an idea,” Calum says suddenly, watching Michael set his bag down and pick up a guitar.

“Is it that you should sing the second verse?” Luke asks.

“Okay, I have two ideas,” Calum amends.

“Go on,” Ashton says, before Luke has the chance to protest.

“Michael should sing the second verse,” Calum says. Michael whips around, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“Me?” he says, voice a little higher than usual.

“You can sing,” Calum says.

“Can you?” Luke says, challenge clear in his tone. “Go on.”

“Luke,” Calum admonishes, frowning.

“No, it’s okay,” Michael says, sitting down on a plastic chair with the guitar and strumming it to see if it’s in tune. “I mean. You guys don’t know me, so.”

“We trust Calum, though,” Ashton says, sending a pointed look in Luke’s direction. Luke rolls his eyes and huffs, but doesn’t say anything, so Calum counts it as a win.

“You should still play, though,” Calum adds. Michael sends him a glance, a little nervous, and Calum smiles at him, trying to communicate _it’s okay, I’m here, don’t mind Luke_. It seems to work, at least a bit, because a little tension drains from Michael’s posture and he nods and looks back down at the guitar. Ashton sits down in another chair, opening his arms, and Luke curls up on his lap, still a little grumpy.

Michael starts strumming, playing the chords through once before swallowing and starting to sing. He starts a little hesitant, a little quiet, but quickly finds his feet, letting his rich voice swell, fill the room, and Calum feels an odd surge of pride.

When Michael stops it’s abrupt, fingers stilling on the frets and voice cutting out, and he bites his lip, looking a little shy all of a sudden.

“Wow,” Ashton says, after a moment of silence. “You’re- you’re, like, really good at singing.”

“Yeah,” Luke says, and Calum hopes Michael won’t hear the grudging note in his voice. “You’ve got a really good voice.”

“Thanks,” Michael says, smiling a little nervously, and then his eyes flit to Calum, looking for an anchor.

“You know I love hearing you sing,” Calum says, seeing a look on Michael’s face that he sees all too often on Luke’s, a _please compliment me_ expression, and that’s what makes Michael’s face light up.

“So I get the second verse?” he says, grinning. “Sweet. I think this is my first experience of a power trip.” Ashton laughs.

“Don’t get too used to it,” he warns. “Luke’s a bit of a diva.” Luke huffs.

“I’m _not_ ,” he says petulantly.

“Not really helping your case, Luke,” Calum notes.

“I’m pretty sure I can give you a run for your money,” Michael says, meeting Luke’s eyes. Luke holds his gaze for a moment, almost considering, and then grins.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” he says, and Ashton throws Calum a grin, one that makes Calum feel a little odd inside because it seems to say _thank fuck our boys are making progress_.

He doesn’t have time to think about it, though, because Luke’s standing up and loudly declaring that Calum’s now relegated to bass because Michael’s definitely better at guitar than he is (“That’s a _promotion_ ,” Calum snaps), and that Michael needs to learn What I Like About You in the next hour before they get kicked out of the practice room so get up, Ashton, and tune your fucking bass, Calum.

“Still think you can give him a run for his money?” Ashton says, throwing Michael a look. Michael grins.

“Oh, just you wait,” he says.

\-------

“You’re late,” is how Michael greets Calum at the cinema on Sunday.

“Good afternoon to you too,” Calum says curtly. Michael rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He pushes himself off the wall he’d been leaning against and nods at Calum’s backpack.

“She in there?” he asks, and Calum nods. “Cool,” Michael says. “Let’s go on our family outing.” Calum tries his best to ignore the thoughts that immediately pop up after that, he really does, but the idea of being an _our_ , an _us_ , with Michael announces itself so loudly that he has to entertain it for a brief moment. It’s not like it means anything, though, he thinks. It’s just a natural product of the situation they’ve been put in, being forced to spend so much time together and be pretend parents.

“You’re quiet,” Michael remarks, as they head over to the ticket desk. “Not that I’m complaining. Makes a nice change from your shitty conversation.” Calum scowls.

“I’m thinking of the best way to kill you,” he says.

“Oh, right,” Michael says conversationally. “Well, it’d have to be stabbing.”

“I feel like shooting you would be easier,” Calum says.

“Yeah, but where are you going to get the gun from?” Michael points out, turning to the girl at the desk. “Two tickets to Wolf of Wall Street, please.”

“True,” Calum concedes. “I could try poison.”

“Thirty dollars, please,” the girl says, throwing them a strange look. Calum makes to get his wallet out, but Michael elbows him gently.

“You got pizza,” he says. “I’m getting this.”

“Pizza was, like, ten dollars,” Calum protests. “That’s not fair.” Michael grins at him, already handing over two twenties.

“You can get drinks later,” he says hopefully.

“No,” Calum says sternly. “We’re getting these fucking slips signed.” Michael pouts, and Calum’s eyes flicker to his lips for a moment. When he catches Michael’s gaze again, there’s something unreadable in Michael’s eyes.

“You’re no fucking fun,” Michael says, taking his change and their tickets from the girl. “Thanks.”

“Thanks,” Calum echoes, and they head off towards the popcorn. “I’ll get popcorn, then.”

“ _No_ fucking fun,” Michael repeats, earning himself an elbow from Calum.

“Two small salted popcorns, please,” Calum tells the guy behind the counter. Michael frowns.

“How d’you know I like salted?” he asks. Calum shrugs.

“For all your flaws, you’re not a psychopath,” he says.

“For all my flaws?” Michael says, indignant. Calum grins, handing over a twenty dollar note to the cashier.

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the two popcorns and handing one to Michael before setting off in the direction of the screen.

“What flaws?” Michael demands, trailing behind him. “Wrong way, idiot. That’s screens one and two. We’re screen five.”

“Well, I haven’t got the tickets, have I?” Calum says, rolling his eyes, but he turns on his heel and heads towards screen five.

The cinema’s pretty empty, so after a little squabble they settle for sitting close to the back in the middle, two rows behind a gaggle of girls that might be from their school but neither of them can see well enough in the dark to confirm.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Stephanie,” Michael says, flopping down in the seat next to Calum and sending at least five bits of popcorn flying.

“I’m telling you, it’s not,” Calum says, picking a piece of popcorn off his thigh and putting it back in Michael’s box. “Her hair’s longer than that.”

“It’s her,” Michael insists. “She might have had it cut. Hey, where’s Jasey?”

“In my bag,” Calum says.

“She should watch the film,” Michael says.

“It’s an R,” Calum says.

“She’ll be 18 one day,” Michael says breezily, leaning over Calum to grab his backpack from the seat on his other side. He’s warm on Calum’s thighs, and smells like clean linen, and Calum’s palms are kind of sweaty but he doesn’t know why. 

“You’re a terrible parent,” Calum says, as Michael pulls Jasey out of his bag by her head and plonks her on the seat next to him.

“You haven’t stopped me,” Michael points out. “You’re complicit.” Calum opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by the lights dimming and the screen turning black, signalling the beginning of the film, and Michael shushing him.

“I didn’t even say anything!” he whispers, incensed, and Michael, eyes on the screen, just flips him off.

The film is just as good as it’s been hyped up to be, and Calum finds himself marvelling both at how well Leonardo DiCaprio has aged and how fucking stunning Margot Robbie is for at least half of the time he’s watching. It’s just at a scene where Leonardo DiCaprio’s first wife is finding out about his affair when he feels something soft and warm against his hand, which he hadn’t realised was gripping the arm of the seat. He glances down, squinting to see in the dark, and sees Michael’s hand resting against his. Michael’s totally focused on the screen, though, so Calum shrugs it off, settling back and trying to ignore the voice in his head that asks him the question he really doesn’t want to ask himself.

_Why don’t you want to move your hand away?_

Calum tries to focus on the rest of the film, he really does, but all he can think of is the warmth of Michael’s fingers rested against his, twitching every so often but never pulling away. It’s not weird, he tells himself, because this armrest is for both seats and it’s only fair that they both get to use it, and it’s not particularly wide so there’s no way for their hands to avoid touching.

By the time it gets to the end of the film, Calum’s starting to panic. Who moves their hand first? What are the politics behind this – is he going to get shit from Michael for pulling away? Is it rude of him to pull away? Is it weird if he doesn’t pull away? 

In the end, Michael makes the first move, pulling his hand away and pushing his fringe out of his face as he turns to grin at Calum while the credits roll. Calum, trying to ignore the sudden coolness he feels on his little finger at the lack of contact, shoves his hand in the pocket of his hoodie.

“That was fucking sick,” Michael enthuses. Calum can see his eyes glinting in the dim light of the cinema, lit up with a kind of pure happiness that probably shouldn’t come as a consequence of watching Wolf of Wall Street. It makes Calum’s heart do some kind of a backflip.

“Yeah,” Calum says, hoping it doesn’t come out as weak as it feels. He clears his throat, as though it’ll clear his head and force all the confusion back where it came from.

“Wanna get a Macca’s and go back to yours?” Michael asks, and Calum nods. Michael grins, picking Jasey up by her arm and tossing her over to Calum, who of course misses, making her clatter on the floor. Michael snorts as he shrugs his jacket back on.

“Thank fuck Miss Haydon’s not here,” he says, and Calum wholeheartedly agrees.

\-------

Of course, they bump into Mali on their way upstairs.

“Who are you?” is how she greets Michael. Calum rolls his eyes.

“This is Michael,” he says, before Michael gets the chance to speak. “He’s my partner for the doll thing.” A grin spreads across Mali’s face.

“I remember doing that,” she says. “Miss Haydon was a fucking pain about it.”

“Tell me about it,” Calum says emphatically.

“Nice to meet you, Michael,” Mali calls over her shoulder, as she heads into her room. “Sorry you got stuck with Calum as a partner.”

“Fuck you too,” Calum shouts after her.

“Calum Thomas Hood!” he hears faintly, an outraged yell coming from the general direction of the kitchen, and he groans. “Apologise to your sister.”

“Sorry, Mali,” Calum shouts, loud enough that his mum can hear, while flipping her off. Mali grins, flipping him off in return, and closes the door to her room.

“She’s cool,” Michael says approvingly, as the two of them traipse to Calum’s room. Calum nods, flinging himself down on the bed and rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

“She is,” he agrees.

“She single?” Michael asks, smirk evident in his tone, and Calum aims a hard kick at his shin which he doesn’t quite manage to miss. “Ow, fuck.”

“Serves you right,” Calum says. Michael hovers awkwardly next to Calum’s bed, and Calum rolls his eyes. “You can sit down, y’know.”

“Well, I don’t fucking know,” Michael says, sounding a little pouty. “Don’t want to be impolite.” A smile unfurls on Calum’s lips at that – he’s not sure why, but it’s kind of endearing.

“We already slept together,” Calum says, as Michael flops down on the bed next to Calum. “I think we’re a bit past that.”

“I hope you know how much willpower it’s taking me not to make a joke right now,” Michael says, very sincerely.

“Not with Jasey in the room,” Calum says, kicking his foot out so it hits the backpack Jasey’s been crammed in.

“She’s got to learn about it at some point,” Michael says dismissively. “When Daddy and Daddy love each other very much…” Calum grins.

“Jasey’s going to fail Biology,” he says.

“Taking after her dad,” Michael says, a note of pride in his voice.

“Failing Biology isn’t something to be proud of,” Calum says, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I haven’t failed _yet_ ,” Michael points out. “Technically, I have a whole three months before my HSCs to get from a D to a C.” Calum rolls over to face him.

“You can do that,” he says. Michael rolls over to face him too.

“If I cared enough,” Michael says offhandedly. Calum blinks at him. They’re really fucking close – Calum can almost feel Michael’s breath on his skin. “What?” Michael asks. “Gonna call my eyes moss again?” Calum scowls.

“First of all, fuck you,” he says, “and secondly, your eyes _did_ look like moss.”

“You really know how to treat a man,” Michael says, letting his eyes flutter shut. He’s got really pretty eyelashes, Calum thinks, and then balks at himself. He didn’t mean pretty – he meant long. They would be pretty on a girl, is what he meant. “I’m going to come out of this friendship with ten times as many self-esteem problems as I had before.”

“Gotta give you something to remember me by,” Calum says, enjoying the way Michael’s lips curve up as he says it. He likes making Michael laugh.

They lie there for a moment, neither of them saying anything nor making any move to pull away, just gazing at each other with something – Calum’s not sure what – hanging between them. It feels strangely intimate, though, feels like they’re sharing something a little more personal than Calum would share with Ashton or Luke, but he doesn’t find himself shying away from it. In fact, it’s Michael who pulls away first, drawing back and sitting up straight again, and Calum finds himself oddly disappointed.

“If I remember correctly,” he says, “I asked you to play me one of your songs last time.”

“If _I_ remember correctly,” Calum says, pulling himself into an upright position, “I said I had to be way drunker than I was to do it.”

“Well, you had your chance to do it drunk,” Michael says, shrugging. “Anyway, you’re going to have to write your own songs as a band eventually.”

“We,” Calum corrects, because Michael’s kind of in the band now, too.

“Alright, sorry for not including myself after one band practice,” Michael says, rolling his eyes. “Stop avoiding the question.”

“You never asked a question,” Calum points out, and Michael grabs one of the cushions on Calum’s bed and whacks his leg with it. Calum jerks away, letting out a squeal, and puts up his hands in self-defence as Michael raises the cushion again threateningly. “Alright, fuck, okay.”

“Okay, you’ll play me a song? Or okay, you’ll stop avoiding it?” Michael asks, pausing with the cushion in his hand. Calum shrugs, a sudden knot of nervousness in his stomach. He doesn’t really want to play Michael anything he’s written, a mixture of embarrassed and afraid of his reaction, but Michael’s got a point. At some point, Calum’s going to have to write and play original songs not only to Michael, but to Luke and Ashton too. And somehow, the concept of playing them to Michael first is a lot less scary than the concept of playing them to Luke or Ashton.

“Okay,” he says again, eventually, and Michael lowers the cushion slowly.

“You don’t have to, Cal,” he says, a gentle note to his voice that Calum doesn’t think he’s heard since Michael told him he would know whether football or music was the right call for him if it ever came down to it. “I mean, I’d love to hear them, but I’m just taking the piss. I don’t want to actually push you.” Calum smiles, hoping it’s not as weak as it feels.

“Yeah, you do,” he says. “You’d push me to the fucking edge if you could, Michael.” Michael hesitates for a moment, searching for upset in Calum’s face, and when he doesn’t find any, smiles back.

“Nah,” he says. “I’d push you _off_ the fucking edge.” Calum huffs out a laugh, and clambers off his bed to pick up the guitar leaning against his wardrobe.

“You’re not allowed to laugh,” he warns, sitting back down a little further away from Michael and pulling the guitar onto his lap.

“I wouldn’t,” Michael says sincerely. Calum nods, then swallows, then puts his fingers on the frets, strumming a little like Michael had the other day, trying to get himself in the right headspace to start singing.

He goes for the first one he’d ever written – one he’s not super proud of, but kind of likes the verse to – a song he’s imaginatively named ‘Heartbreak Girl’ after two lines in the chorus. He finds his voice quivering at first, eyes steadfast on the fretboard, and he has to clear his throat a couple of times between lines and swallow excess saliva, but by the time he’s got halfway through the chorus he’s starting to find his feet, and by the bridge he’s properly singing, still not able to look at Michael but feeling confident enough to look at his knees instead of at his fingers working on the fretboard.

He gets to the end of the song and does one final strum, and finally feels all the adrenaline release at once, making his fingers and legs tremble and his breath come out in short, shaky exhales.

“Fuck,” Michael says, after a moment, and there’s a note of… _awe_ in his voice. “Fuck, Cal, you’re…” he trails off, and Calum chances a look at him. He’s rocked back on the bed, gazing at Calum with a look of admiration and pride, and Calum feels a sudden surge of affection for him. He blames it on the adrenaline – it’s probably just relief, he thinks, combined with the fact that he’s proud of himself for doing it, and thankful that Michael didn’t, like, film him and post it on his Snapchat story with a laughing emoji, or something.

“It’s not great, I know, but-” Calum starts, but Michael cuts him off.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says. “It’s fucking amazing. _You’re_ fucking amazing. Like. The best.” Calum can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face at that.

“Yeah?” he says.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Michael says fervently.

“Well,” Calum says, still clutching the guitar like a protective barrier between him and Michael. “Guess I’d better change your contact name to ‘Jasey’s second-favourite dad’.” Michael scowls.

“Don’t change the topic,” he says, “and fuck you, I’m definitely her favourite dad. You’re a fucking killjoy.”

“I’m not,” Calum says. “I just care about her welfare.” Michael sends a pointed look down at Calum’s bag, in which Jasey is stuffed so tightly that she’s almost bursting out at the top, and then back at Calum. “Yeah? Babies like being in tight places.”

“Not crammed in a backpack, though, Jesus,” Michael says. “At least your sick songwriting skills make up for your terrible parenting skills.” A thrill of pleasure shoots through Calum’s veins, and he grins, despite himself.

“Thanks,” he says. Michael grins back at him, eyes lit up and crinkled at the corners. Calum thinks he looks kind of adorable. But he thinks that about Luke sometimes, too, so it’s not weird, or anything.

“Thanks for showing me that,” Michael says, and it’s warm and genuine.

“There’s no one else I would rather have shown it to first,” Calum says honestly, and Michael’s smile gets impossibly brighter.

“Hang on, I’m the first person to hear it?” he says.

“You’re the first person to hear any of my songs,” Calum says, not sure why he suddenly feels a little embarrassed, like he’s a try-hard, or something.

“What about Luke?” Calum shakes his head.

“He doesn’t even know I write,” he admits. “Nor Ashton.” Michael stares at him for a moment.

“God,” he says, sounding a little strangled. “I- wow. Okay. That’s- I wasn’t expecting that.” Calum shrugs, embarrassment hot in his chest. He shouldn’t have told Michael that. Michael’s going to think Calum’s, like, some weird, clingy freak who overshares after three weeks. Although, to be fair, Calum had already told Michael he feels a bit like home, so if there were an oversharing line, he’s already taken a big lunge over it. Something about sharing his songs, though, and sharing them for the first time, feels more intimate than saying that.

“Yeah, well,” is the best Calum can muster in response, with his brain short-circuiting as it tries to quell the embarrassment.

“I really appreciate it,” Michael says. “I wouldn’t have asked if I knew you’d never played them for anyone before.”

“Well,” Calum says. “I probably would never have played them for anyone if you hadn’t asked, so.” He punctuates it with a shrug.

“In that case, I’m not sorry I asked,” Michael says. “It’s really fucking good. Like, _really_ fucking good. Album material.” Calum snorts.

“Okay, you fucking liar,” he says, setting the guitar back down against the wardrobe, but he’s a little pleased.

“I’m not lying,” Michael protests. “Calum, you’re really fucking talented.”

“Alright, you don’t need to arselick,” Calum grumbles, but he’s smiling, a flutter of warmth in his chest at the fact that Michael likes his songs _this much_. Michael’s grin turns wicked in an instant.

“Maybe I enjoy it,” he says, a twinkle in his eye, and okay, Calum does _not_ want to think about that, even if his dick maybe does because fucking hell, he’s a teenage boy and any mention of sex is enough to sort of get him going a little bit. It’s nothing to do with Michael.

“Gross,” Calum says. “You’re never allowed to kiss Jasey again.”

“I’ve never kissed Jasey,” Michael says.

“That’s neglect,” Calum tells him. “You’re going to get picked up for child abuse.”

“Not if no one finds out,” Michael says.

“Oh, you’re relying on my good nature, are you?” Calum says. “Well. My good nature is paywalled.” Michael snorts.

“What’s your price?” he says.

“Taking over the next lesson,” Calum says.

“I already took over the last one,” Michael complains.

“You spilt formula all over the fucking desk and made _me_ clean up the clothes you wiped it off with,” Calum says.

" _Yeah_ , I took over by spilling the formula and deciding the course of the lesson,” Michael says. “Plus, it got you out of Miss Haydon’s line of vision, didn’t it? Really, you should be thanking me.” Calum rolls his eyes.

“Oh, right,” he says. “Thanks for letting me spend twenty minutes washing lumpy formula out of baby clothes. How _generous_ of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Michael says primly, laughing when Calum picks up the cushion Michael had hit him with earlier and thumps him on the knee with it.

“Dickhead,” Calum says, but he’s grinning. Michael meets his eyes, grinning back at him, face lit up and eyes bright, and for the first time, Calum has a thought that he can’t immediately explain away.

He wants to kiss Michael.

A sudden wave of sickness crashes over him immediately following that thought, and the panic must show on his face because Michael’s grin turns into a concerned frown.

“You alright?” he asks, and Calum can only barely bring himself to nod. “You’re, like, me levels of pale.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, heart beating too fast, willing himself not to throw up as he speaks. “I- uh. Not feeling great, suddenly.” Michael’s frown deepens.

“Are you okay?” he says, even though Calum’s literally just said he isn’t. “Can I get you anything? Should I tell your mum?” Calum shakes his head, not really trusting himself to speak because his mouth is dry and he suddenly wants nothing more than for Michael to leave him alone, because he can’t act normal while thoughts are racing through his head like this and he needs time to _think_. “Do you want me to go?” Calum hesitates for a moment – he wants Michael to leave, yes, but not to _go_ – and then shakes his head. Rationally, he thinks he’ll probably think himself in circles if he’s left on his own, and at least having Michael for company will force him to think of something else. “Okay. Why don’t you lie down?”

Calum nods, swallowing away the bile rising in his throat, and gets into bed on autopilot, staring up at the ceiling unblinkingly. His heartbeat’s starting to slow down a little, though, as thoughts chase each other through his mind – he didn’t _actually_ want to kiss Michael, he just entertained the _idea_ of it, which was different; he’s definitely wanted to kiss guys before, like, what nine-year-old could look at Zac Efron in High School Musical and _not_ want to kiss him, so it’s not weird that it’s Michael; he’s a teenage boy with hormones going through a dry spell, so he’s bound to latch onto whoever shows him any sort of attention. That last thought settles in Calum’s stomach comfortingly, an explanation that he doesn’t believe but desperately wants to, so he ignores the part of himself that’s telling him it’s not true and listens to the bit that says it’s an explanation, it makes sense, there’s nothing to worry about.

“Here,” Michael says, suddenly a shadow over Calum, and he’s put his water bottle on Calum’s bedside table. He’s got a worried crease between his eyebrows, so Calum pushes himself into a sitting position and smiles at Michael, a little wobbly.

“I think it’s passed,” he says, as his breathing returns to normal. Michael raises an eyebrow, sceptical.

“Right,” he says. “I still think I should tell your mum.”

“I’m _eighteen_ ,” Calum says. “I can look after myself when I’m sick.”

“Yeah, but it’s still nice to have someone fuss over you,” Michael says. “And _I’m_ not going to fuss over you, so.”

“You _are_ fussing,” Calum says, nodding at the water bottle on his bedside table. Michael glowers at him, but his cheeks are tinged with pink.

“I just don’t want to get thrown in jail when you die in a locked room with me,” he says. “Self-preservation, that’s all it is.”

“The door’s not locked,” Calum says.

“Not _yet_ ,” Michael counters.

“It doesn’t have a lock on it,” Calum says. He’s starting to feel a bit more himself, now, feeling the colour flood back into his cheeks. There’s still an undercurrent of sickness churning in his stomach, but it’s low enough that he can ignore it.

“Not yet,” Michael says again, and Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Idiot.

“Shut the fuck up,” he settles for, and Michael just grins at him, eyes twinkling. Calum tries not to think about the exact hue of sea-green behind the inky black lashes.

Michael’s phone buzzes suddenly, pressed against the bed so Calum feels it in his legs, and Michael fishes it out of his pocket with a little difficulty and scans the notification.

“Shit,” Michael says. “Mum wants me home for dinner.” Calum nods. “You…I can stay, if you want.” Calum hesitates – _please_ is just on the tip of his tongue, but-

“No,” he finds himself saying. “You should go. I’m not going to be great company, anyway. Probably just end up going to sleep.” Michael looks at him for a moment, and Calum tries to school his features into something convincingly exhausted, until Michael nods, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he gets up.

“Want me to take Jasey?” he offers, stretching. His shirt rides up a little, exposing a pale sliver of stomach that Calum has to force himself not to stare at.

“Yeah,” Calum says. Michael nods, bends down, pretty much rips Jasey out of Calum’s backpack by her head, and stuffs her in his own backpack.

“Think Miss Haydon will have forgotten about detention tomorrow?” Michael asks hopefully, as Calum gets out of bed on slightly unsteady legs. Calum groans – fuck. _He’d_ forgotten about detention.

“I doubt it,” he says. “Especially not if it’s me and you.” Michael’s face falls.

“Fuck,” he says, following Calum out of the room and down the stairs to where Michael had left his shoes and coat. “D’you think if we ask nicely she’ll make it a lunchtime detention?”

“I wish,” Calum says, watching Michael pull his shoes on. “I think she’s on lunch duty on Mondays, though, isn’t she?” Michael shrugs as he puts his coat on.

“How the fuck would I know?” he says.

“Well, I’m always dodging her in the corridors,” Calum says.

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t like you,” Michael says.

“She doesn’t like you either.”

“Only when I’m with you,” Michael says, with a grin. Calum rolls his eyes.

“Go home,” he says, opening the door. Michael steps out, but then turns around to face Calum. He’s got that look on his face, the patented Michael and Luke _I want to say something but I don’t know if I should_ , so Calum waits it out.

“I had a really good time today,” Michael says, eventually. Calum snorts.

“What are you, forty?” he says. Michael scowls.

“Fuck you,” he says. “I was being nice.”

“It doesn’t suit you,” Calum tells him. Michael flips him off.

“Well, I was going to say I hope you feel better soon, but in that case I don’t,” he says, glaring at Calum.

“That’s more like it,” Calum says, grinning, and a smile breaks through Michael’s glower.

“Shut up,” he says, but it’s tinged with fondness. Calum tries to ignore the butterflies in his stomach at that. It’s probably because he hasn’t eaten.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, as Michael steps away from the door.

“In detention,” Michael reminds him. Calum groans.

“In detention,” he agrees. “Give Jasey a goodnight kiss from me.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to kiss her anymore?”

“It doesn’t count if it’s from me.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Fuck you,” he calls, nearly at the end of the driveway.

“Fuck you too,” Calum shouts back, and then Michael rounds the corner and is out of sight.

Calum shuts the door a little harder than he’d intended, and rests his forehead against the cool glass, trying to ignore the way his house suddenly feels larger and emptier without Michael in it.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i cannot believe it's been nearly 2 months since i last updated this actually i absolutely can we know what i'm like. we really do know. 
> 
> i wrote a small portion of this chapter a while ago but i just haven't been VIBING with this fic of late and then today i was struck with inspiration for about 30 seconds and thought to myself yeah i will finish this chapter off and then the inspiration dried up i cannot believe i was so inspired during exam season i wrote so much and now that i technically have all the time in the world to write my brain is like? oh you want some words? well i don't know any try again tomorrow. 
> 
> what have i been doing with all that time instead of writing? yes i'm asking myself that too honestly well for anybody who has somehow missed the memo i am currently obsessed with taron egerton and richard madden and i've made it my life's mission to get everyone to watch rocketman. please don't ask me why i'm suddenly into them again i honestly have no clue i watched it last summer and i was obsessed then maybe this is just an annual reoccurrence now every may/june i'm going to stan again who knows summer 2021 will be the real test 
> 
> please stay safe and aware in these horrible and difficult times but most importantly look after yourselves and each other

Calum’s not very good at keeping things like this off his mind.

He’s an overthinker, his mum always says fondly, with only a hint of concern. He tries too much to make sense of situations that don’t make sense, and he thinks himself in circles with it.

Calum knows it’s not something he can make sense of, really, but it doesn’t stop him trying to rationalise it to himself, switching between blind panic that he might actually like Michael the same way he’d liked Sarah, or Nicole, or Jenny, and forced calmness as he convinces himself for a few minutes that it didn’t mean anything, that it’s just a result of teenage hormones and a dry spell.

He can’t keep up a conversation at dinner, feels too sick to eat, and mumbles an excuse when he sees his parents frowning at him worriedly, pushing his chair back from the table and making his way up to his room, hands balled into fists. He spends an hour trying to play guitar or watch TV or play videogames, but he can’t focus on anything. All he can think of is the panic swirling in his chest, twisting in his stomach, leaving his fingers trembling.

In the end, Calum turns to the only person he can trust in this situation.

Mali.

It’s not until one in the morning that he texts her, having spent four hours lying in bed staring at the ceiling in the dark. He’s not expecting a response, because she’s got work and he’s got school the next day, so he’s surprised to hear a soft knock at the door two minutes later.

“Yeah?” he says, shuffling up so he’s sitting leaning against the headboard. The door opens, and Mali slips in.

“What’s up?” she says, settling down on Calum’s bed. Calum swallows. It’s dark, and she can’t see his face, and somehow that makes him feel a little less scared. It’s only Mali, he tells himself, when he opens his mouth and the words die on the tip of his tongue. It’s only Mali, and she’ll pretend to have forgotten by the morning if he wants her to.

He swallows again, and tries once more.

“Have you ever…” he can’t quite get the words out, but Mali waits for him. He clears his throat, and the sound rings in his ears. “Have you ever wanted to kiss a girl? Like. As an adult?” It doesn’t seem to make sense when he phrases it like that, but hopefully Mali knows what he means. He’s pretty sure him wanting to kiss Zac Efron as an nine-year-old doesn’t mean anything. Everyone wanted to kiss Zac Efron in 2005.

The words hang between them for a moment, and Calum wishes Mali would say something, anything, even fucking laugh, just _something_ to break the silence.

“Yeah,” Mali says, after a while, her tone gentle.

“Oh,” Calum says, and it’s not the answer he’d expected, but he finds it’s the answer he wanted. A warmth blossoms in his chest – he’s not alone. It’s okay.

“What’s this about?” Mali asks. Calum hesitates for a moment, because if he says it, it becomes real, and not something that he can keep squashing in his mind. Then again, he tells himself for the fiftieth time, it’s only Mali. She’ll act like it never happened if that’s what he needs.

“I think…” Calum says, and his voice comes out as a whisper. It still sounds too loud. “I think I might want to kiss a boy.” He wants to bite back the words as soon as he says them, despite the qualifiers he’s thrown in to soften the blow.

“Okay,” Mali says, calm, reassuring, gentle.

“Okay?” Calum echoes, and he can’t help it coming out as a question.

“Okay,” Mali says again, a little more firmly this time.

“But,” Calum says, “doesn’t that mean that I’m…y’know…?”

“What,” Mali says, and now she sounds a little amused, “gay? Cal, you know it’s not just a binary, right?”

“No, no, I know,” Calum says hurriedly. “I mean, Ashton’s bi.”

“Right,” Mali says. “You know, even so, you don’t have to label yourself as anything. I don’t.” And, okay, that’s not something they’ve ever spoken about, and it takes Calum by surprise a little bit.

“Oh?” he says.

“Yeah,” Mali says, and Calum thinks he sees the outline of her shrugging in the dark. “I like who I like. I don’t think too much about it.”

“Oh,” Calum says again, suddenly thinking about what Michael had said that first time they went out. _I’m not anything_ , he’d said. Calum hadn’t cared enough to ask what he meant back then, but now he wonders – is Michael not anything in the same way Mali’s not anything? “So. Would you say you’re…not anything?”

“Sure,” Mali says.

“Oh,” Calum says, for a third time. Mali’s hand finds his in the dark and squeezes it comfortingly.

“You don’t have to be anything,” she says, like she knows what he’s thinking. “And it’s okay not to know.”

“I know,” Calum says, because he does. But somehow, the idea of not needing to think about it, of just liking who he likes, feels reassuring and kind of…right. He doesn’t have to be anything. He can just be Calum.

“Do you want me to sleep here?” Mali asks, and Calum feels kind of stupid for a moment, because Mali hasn’t had to sleep with him since he was like, twelve.

Then again, it’s only Mali, he tells himself, for the hundredth time that night. Mali always knows, and Mali never pushes.

“Yeah,” he says, and she squeezes his hand again, and Calum feels like maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

\-------

Everything is okay until approximately three-thirty the next afternoon.

Calum makes it through double Maths, manages to finish his homework for English while Luke takes notes for both himself and Calum in Chemistry, lets Michael copy his Music homework at lunch while he, Luke and Ashton argue about what song they should cover next, and then sits through double Spanish and daydreams about nothing in particular.

At three-thirty, he’s waiting at his locker for Michael to hand him Jasey, when Luke ambles over.

“Don’t you have detention?” Luke says, frowning as he chucks a bunch of books in his locker. Calum’s stomach bottoms out.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” he says, and sprints off in the direction of Miss Haydon’s classroom.

Michael’s already in there when Calum comes skidding into the room, Jasey perched on the edge of his desk, and Miss Haydon gives him a reproving look from her desk at the front of the classroom.

“You’re late,” she says.

“Mr Padilla let us out late,” Calum says, because he doesn’t trust her not to give him another detention for forgetting about this one. She fixes him with another Look, but then motions for him to take a seat. He heads over towards Michael on automatic pilot, but is interrupted by Miss Haydon.

“No, Calum,” she says, like he’s trying to play some kind of trick on her. “Sit two desks away, please.”

“ _Two?_ ” Calum says in disbelief, because okay, he gets not letting him sit next to his friend in detention, because that kind of defeats the point, but two seems a bit extreme.

“Feel free to make it three or four,” Miss Haydon says, and Calum scowls, but dumps his back down two desks away from Michael, who gives him a pained look. Calum returns it, throwing himself into the chair with a slightly melodramatic huff. Miss Haydon rolls her eyes, but returns to whatever it is she’s doing, leaving Calum to either continue to sit for an hour and sulk or actually get some of the homework that’s due tomorrow done.

After toying with both options for a moment, he decides to swallow his pride and pulls his Geography book out of his bag, opening it to the most recent page and trying to focus on U-shaped valleys.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of three pens scratching for a long while, and Calum’s actually finally understanding this whole U- versus V-shaped valleys shit, when there’s a knock at the door. All three of them look up, surprised, to see Mr Henderson hovering awkwardly at the door.

“Uh, sorry,” he says. “I thought-” Miss Haydon stands up, and Jesus Christ, is she _blushing?_

“I’ll be five minutes, boys,” she says, and then the door swings closed behind the two of them and Calum hears the sound of her heels clicking down the corridor, and two hushed voices getting further and further away.

He turns to Michael when he can’t hear her heels against the linoleum anymore, and Michael stares at him.

“They’re definitely fucking,” he says, and Calum snorts.

“What, based on the fact he knocked on her door after school?” he says. “They’re probably just planning what the best homework they can set to make me lose the will to live is.”

“Do you think they talk about us?” Michael wonders, leaning back in his chair.

“Why would they talk about us?” Calum asks. Michael stares at him for a moment, and then rolls his eyes.

“Not me and you, idiot,” he says. “I mean students.” Calum feels a bit embarrassed at that, for some reason, like him assuming Michael and Calum constitute an ‘us’ is something to be ashamed of.

“Probably,” he says, trying to offset the embarrassment heating up his cheeks. “I mean, there’s a lot to talk about. Remember when Nicole and Sam put laxative in the water dispensers?” Michael gapes at him.

“No, what the fuck?” he says after a moment, in disbelief.

“What the fuck, how did you not know that?” Calum asks. “Did you not shit yourself for two days, like the rest of us?”

“ _Yeah_ , but I thought I just ate something dodgy,” Michael says, still sounding incredulous.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know that,” Calum says. “What about when James and Penny kicked Matt and Jack out of their hotel room to fuck on the New York trip last year?”

“What the _fuck_?” Michael says, in utter shock. “I was _on_ the New York trip. Nobody fucking told me that.”

“Or when Brooke tattooed Ella in the changing rooms in Year Eleven?” Michael just stares at Calum, mouth hanging open. Calum rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Michael. Do you even fucking go to this school?” Michael snaps his mouth shut, suddenly tense.

“Fuck you,” he says, and he sounds a little upset.

“Hey, what the fuck?” Calum says, frowning, because he doesn’t think his comment warranted that kind of a response. “What’s wrong?”

“Just because I don’t have fucking friends,” Michael says. Calum’s face falls.

“Shit, Mikey,” he says, words tripping over each other in their haste to fall from his lips. “Shit, I- I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

“Sure,” Michael mutters, like he doesn’t believe Calum at all.

“C’mon, Mikey,” Calum says, and his chest starts to tighten when Michael won’t look at him. Their friendship is so new, and Calum’s never given any thought to whether that newness translates to fragility, but right now, with Michael staring steadfastly at his unfinished Maths homework he’s suddenly struck by _just_ how new everything is, just how quickly it could crumble. “You have friends. You have me.” He tacks that on tentatively, almost as an afterthought, not wanting to overwhelm Michael, or seem clingy, or make himself vulnerable by exposing how much he wants Michael’s friendship.

“Right,” Michael mumbles, but he still won’t look at Calum.

“I’m sorry,” Calum says, swallowing the panic rising in his throat, and finally, fucking finally, Michael looks at him, sea-green eyes hurt and angry and sad.

The words hang between them for a moment, the most sincere words Calum thinks he’s ever said to Michael, including when he told Michael he felt a little bit like home, until Michael finally sighs.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” Calum says, because that could mean _okay, you’re sorry and I forgive you_ , or it could mean _okay, I’ve had enough and I want you to fuck off_.

“Yeah,” Michael says. “Sorry, it’s just- it’s sensitive.”

“Sorry,” Calum says again. Michael shakes his head.

“Don’t worry,” he says decisively, like he’s braced himself now. “Hey, you’ve done Henderson’s trigonometry homework, right?” Calum hesitates for a moment, unsure whether he should push it further or let Michael change the subject, before nodding.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Want to share it with your co-parent?” Michael says, batting his eyelashes with a grin, and suddenly it’s like the whole conversation never happened.

“I don’t know,” Calum says, leaning back in his chair and pretending to think. “What’s in it for me?” 

“My eternal gratitude?” Calum snorts, shaking his head. 

“That pot needs a lot of sweetening,” he tells Michael. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“I’ll take Jasey for an extra weekend?” he offers. 

“And do all the rest of the lessons?” Calum tries. Michael stares at him. 

“Absolutely not,” he says. “I’d rather take the detention.” Calum sighs, but concedes; it’d been a long shot. 

“Fine,” he says, reaching over into his bag and digging for the crumpled Maths homework he’d copied off Luke earlier that day. He pulls it out and reaches out as far as his arm will go, but even with Michael leaning over on his chair and stretching too, they’re still a good metre apart. 

“Bring it here,” Michael demands, making grabby hands for the paper, and just for that, Calum snatches it back. 

“Come get it,” he says. Michael hesitates for a moment, scowling, clearly dithering between being incensed that he’s going to have to get up and reluctantly accepting that since he’s the one asking for the homework, he’s the one that has to get up for it, before he sighs, scrapes his chair back, and marches over to Calum, hand outstretched. 

He’s really close to Calum, actually. Calum notices from the way his heart rate picks up, the way his palms get a little slick, the way he has to swallow to stop himself thinking too hard about the exact hue of Michael’s eyes blinking insistently at him. He can just about pick up the scent of clean linen that always seems to cling to Michael, and something about it makes him want to keep Michael hovering here as long as possible. He moves the homework into his other hand, holds it even further away from Michael, and grins up at him. 

“C’mon, Cal,” Michael whines. “Miss Haydon’s going to be back any minute and catch us.” Calum just keeps grinning at him, hoping his eyes aren’t betraying any of the strange fire licking through his veins. Michael rolls his eyes but leans down, stretching across Calum to snatch the paper out of Calum’s left hand, and Calum finds himself having to tamp down a flare of arousal at the heady smell of clean linen and pine. Jesus. 

“You’re a cunt,” Michael tells him, matter-of-fact, just as the door swings open and Miss Haydon strides back in. Both of their heads snap towards her, equally guilty expressions on their faces, and she stares at them with something halfway between fury and irritation etched into her features. 

“Michael Clifford!” she explodes, after a moment of tense silence. “I will _not_ tolerate such language in school!” 

“Sorry, miss,” Michael says, a little meekly. Calum bites back a snort, and Miss Haydon’s eyes swivel to him, beady and calculating. 

“I suppose you think it’s funny, Calum?” she says derisively. Calum does, but he’s not looking to get himself another detention, so he shakes his head. “And what is Michael doing at your desk?” Her eyes trail down to the piece of paper crumpled in Michael’s hand which he’s trying (very conspicuously) to hide, and she sighs. “Give it to me.” Michael hesitates, and she fixes him with a steely glare, and he throws a pleading glance at Calum, who can’t do anything but shrug at him. Michael turns back to Miss Haydon, walks slowly to the front of the room. 

“Homework,” he says, holding out the paper for Miss Haydon to take, and before she has the chance to draw her own conclusions. “Calum asked me to check over his answers for him.” 

“You expect me to believe that?” she says, glaring at Michael. 

“Well, you can’t prove otherwise,” Michael says. Miss Haydon looks at him for a moment, hard, and then folds the paper back up and hands it to Michael again. 

“I’ll see you here next Monday for another detention,” she says smartly. “Both of you.” 

“ _What_?” Calum says indignantly, because yeah, Michael’s trying to copy homework and swore at school, but what the fuck did _he_ do? “Miss, I didn’t _do_ anythi-” 

“Do you want to make it two?” Miss Haydon says threateningly, and Calum snaps his mouth shut, glowering at her. Fucking hell. His mum’s going to kill him. 

“ _Fine_ , Miss,” he says instead, not caring how sullen and sulky it comes out. “Can we go now?” She considers it for a moment, then nods curtly, and Calum kicks his chair back in relief, sweeping everything on the table into his bag and shouldering it quickly. Michael glances at her hesitantly, but when she busies herself with shuffling papers on her desk he speedwalks back to the desk he’d been sat at and grabbing his things, not even bothering to put them in his bag before making for the door, Calum hot on his heels. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Calum says hotly, as soon as they’re out of the room, knowing full well they’re still in earshot and not caring at all. 

“I fucking know,” Michael groans, shoving the things in his hand in his bag haphazardly. “For calling you a cunt? I should get a fucking Nobel prize for intelligence, not _detention_.” 

“That’s not a thing,” Calum tells him, pushing open the door to outside and letting the warm air wash over him. 

“Should be,” Michael says, a little snootily. 

“I didn’t even _do_ anything,” Calum grumbles, kicking at a rock as they make their way across the deserted playground. 

“You were letting me copy your homework,” Michael says fairly. 

“Yeah, well,” Calum says darkly. “She’s just got it in for us because we don’t want to do her stupid doll project.” Michael stops abruptly, a look of horror on his face. 

“Oh, fuck,” he says, and then sprints back towards the building. 

“Michael?” Calum yells, at Michael’s retreating figure. “Mike? What the fu-” 

“Calum Hood!” a voice shouts sternly, and Calum looks around wildly to see Mr Padilla glaring at him from the third floor of the science block, whatever the fuck he’s doing in there. “No swearing at school.” 

“Sorry, sir,” Calum calls back, and Mr Padilla glares at him one more time before slamming the window shut, leaving Calum standing on his own, bewildered, in the middle of the empty playground. Not for long, though; Michael comes tearing back out of the building just as Calum’s decided to head back and see what the fuck’s got into him, Jasey dangling by her foot from his hand. He brandishes her at Calum as he jogs towards him. 

“Forgot Jasey,” he pants, skidding to a halt about a metre away from Calum. 

“Shit,” Calum says. “What’d she say?” 

“What? She’s a fucking doll, Cal, she can’t talk,” Michael says, frowning down at Jasey. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“ _Miss Haydon,_ you fucking idiot,” he says. 

“Oh,” Michael says, looking back up at Calum. “Threatened me with another detention.” 

“She’s such a megalomaniac,” Calum says, shaking his head as he heads towards the gates. Michael falls into step with him, nodding fervently. 

“Here,” he says, holding Jasey out, and she swings dangerously with the momentum. “Your turn.” Fuck. Calum had forgotten about that. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, but grabs Jasey’s head and pulls his bag off his shoulder, ramming her in inelegantly. They’ve reached the gates now, and Calum has to turn right, while he knows Michael has to head left. “See you tomorrow?” Michael nods, heading off to the left, walking backwards so he can shout one final thing at Calum as he goes. 

“I never got to copy your homework, by the way,” he calls, grin playing at his lips, “so that weekend deal is off.” Calum stares at him. 

“Fuck you,” is all he can shout back, and Michael laughs, all pink lips and sparkling eyes, and Calum’s stomach flips when Michael blows him an exaggerated kiss and turns around. 

Fuck, he thinks, slinging his bag back over his shoulder and heading off to the right, steadfastly ignoring the itch to turn back, to look over his shoulder at Michael’s retreating figure.

(Had he done so, his eyes would have met Michael’s.) 

\-------

Luke’s already sat in Calum’s seat when he slinks into the classroom on Tuesday, ready for whatever bullshit Miss Haydon’s decided to throw their way. 

“Hey,” he says nonchalantly, when Calum heads over, and then turns back to Michael. “So if we do-”

“That’s my seat,” Calum says. 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “I think it’d be easiest if we-”

“Get out of it?” Calum says, because he’s not understanding why Luke’s still sat down and Calum’s still standing. 

“In a _minute,_ ” Luke says, exasperated, like Calum asking to sit in his own seat is a massive burden for him. “I think we could arrange it so that we both sing it.” 

“Who’s singing what?” Calum says, dumping his bag on the table in front of Luke pointedly. Luke doesn’t even flinch. 

“Jasey Rae,” Michael tells him. 

“Why can’t I sing?” Calum demands. Luke throws him a shrug. 

“You’re still learning to play bass,” he says. “Can you do both at once?” Calum makes a noise of outrage. 

“Are you _kidding_ m-” he starts, but Miss Haydon cuts over him. 

“Sit down, please,” she says loudly, and very deliberately. Luke hops out of Calum’s seat, and Calum glares at him as he brushes past on his way back to Ashton, throwing himself down in the chair a little melodramatically. 

“Since when are you and Luke deciding what we do in the band?” he says, a little grumpily. 

“I- sorry,” Michael says, and he does actually sound kind of sorry, and a little worried. “Are you mad?” 

“Yes,” Calum says, even though he’s not really. Not at Michael, at least. He probably couldn’t even be mad at Michael if Michael massacred his entire family. 

“Sorry,” Michael says, and he sounds like he means it. “I just- Luke’s not really been my biggest fan, so-” 

“It’s fine,” Calum says, feeling a bit bad now, because yeah, he forgets that their friendship isn’t something Michael’s all that used to yet. “I’m not actually mad.” He pauses. “At you, anyway.” Michael grins at that, looking relieved, and digs his pen into the wood of the desk. 

“Socialising is very important for infants,” Miss Haydon says loudly, cutting through the low buzz of chatter in the room. One by one, the pairs fall silent, and start paying attention. Calum takes that as his cue to stop, letting Miss Haydon’s droning voice wash over him as he once again tries to count the grains of wood on the desk. “...in your pairs, please,” he hears, and then the room bursts into chatter again. 

“You take any of that in?” Calum asks, turning to Michael, who shakes his head. “Great. I heard ‘socialising’?” 

“I heard ‘split across two lessons’, and zoned out,” Michael says, which Calum thinks is fair enough. His eyes dart across the room, scanning to see what everybody else seems to be doing, which appears to be ‘hold the baby against your chest’. 

“What the hell are they doing?” he says, with intrigue, nodding at Nick and Jemima. Michael follows Calum’s gaze, snorting when he sees Nick caressing the face of their doll and whispering something to it. 

“Are _we_ supposed to socialise with the doll?” Michael says, gaze flitting from Nick and Jemima to Luke and Ashton, who look to be deep in conversation. 

“Surely not?” Calum says, staring at Jenny and Ben. “How the fuck are we meant to socialise with it?” Michael turns to Jasey. 

“How are you, Jasey?” he says solemnly, and Calum cracks up. Michael grins, and continues, mock-thoughtful. “Huh. She’s not responding. Maybe she likes you better?” 

“Can’t blame her,” Calum says, and yanks Jasey towards him by her foot. “Want to get drunk at the park later, Jasey?” Michael makes a noise of outrage, and pulls at Jasey’s other foot, tugging her towards him. 

“We’re not wasting our alcohol on you,” he tells Jasey. Calum pulls her back to himself. 

“Actually, Jasey and I aren’t going to waste our alcohol on _you,_ ” he tells Michael, who scoffs. 

“You’re an _awful_ parent,” he says, and Calum grins. 

“Yep,” he says cheerfully, flicking Jasey in the middle of her forehead so she falls over backwards. 

“You were the one telling me not to get her out in an R-rated movie, and now you want to get her drunk?” Michael says. Calum shrugs. 

“Alcohol versus finding out Wall Street exists?” he says, and Michael wrinkles his nose and nods. 

“Fair point,” he concedes. “Hey, if we’re letting her drink, does that make us the cool parents?” Calum snorts. 

“Yeah, for the two minutes that we’d actually manage to keep her alive,” he says, and Michael grins. 

“Live fast, die young,” he says. 

“Yeah, not at the age of two weeks, though,” Calum points out. Michael shrugs. 

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me,” he says. “Wouldn’t have to face all the shit in the world.” 

“True,” Calum admits. “Imagine the peace of never having to know about taxes.” 

“Or climate change,” Michael adds. 

“Or racism,” Calum nods. 

“Or homophobia,” Michael says, and there’s a slightly bitter edge to his tone. Calum hesitates. 

“Michael,” he says carefully, wanting to say something along the lines of _you don’t have to say anything, but if you do want to, I’m here,_ but Michael cuts over him. 

“It’s fine,” he says, a little too breezily. “It’s just. My dad. But it’s fine.” Calum bites his lip. 

“Are you sure?” he says, because it seems like there’s more to the story, and Michael shrugs, a little sadly, a little heavily. 

“It is what it is,” he says. “It’s not, like. Bad. It’s just…” he sighs. “I’m just not what he wanted me to be.” Calum doesn’t really know what to say to that. Michael seems to sense it, because he stares down at the table a little uncomfortably, and adds: “It’s fine, though. Like, it’s not bad. It just...kinda sucks. It’s not just that, anyway. The whole not having friends thing, too. Amongst other things, actually. If I had a dollar for every way I’ve let him down…” he smiles humourlessly, an ugly twist of his mouth, and Calum’s heart lurches. 

“Hey,” he says gently, and puts a hand on Michael’s forearm. Michael tenses, but doesn’t move away. “You’re not a fucking disappointment, Mikey.” 

“Aren’t I?” Michael mumbles, digging his pen into the desk. 

“Not to me,” Calum says, because he can’t honestly tell Michael that he’s never disappointed his dad since he doesn’t know the guy. 

“Not yet,” Michael mutters. 

“Never,” Calum says firmly. “I think so little of you it’s impossible for you to let me down.” Michael smiles at that, a small but genuine smile, and the tightness in Calum’s chest loosens a little. 

“What if I say I think Leonardo DiCaprio’s hotter now than he was in the nineties?” Michael says. 

“Not fazed at all,” Calum tells him, and Michael looks at him, half-amused, half-surprised. “What, you really thought I’d think you have good taste?” 

“I have good taste,” Michael protests. “What about Robert Pattinson?” Calum narrows his eyes. 

“Passable,” he says. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Zac Efron?” he tries. 

“Okay, yeah,” Calum agrees, and then without thinking, adds: “I think he was the first guy I ever wanted to kiss.” Michael blinks at him, looking taken aback. 

“I thought you were straight?” he says, and Calum swallows. Shit. 

“Uh,” he says, biting his lip. He’s not really sure what to say to that. ‘Maybe’? ‘Not sure’? ‘Had my first sexuality crisis last night so can I get back to you’? Michael’s still looking at him, a little expectant, a little curious, and a little of something Calum can’t quite put his finger on. 

“Jury’s out on that?” he settles on eventually. Michael holds his gaze for a moment, and Calum watches the micromovements of his eyes as they scan Calum’s, before Michael nods, and turns back to the front of the room, staring steadfastly at the board behind Miss Haydon. 

“Huh,” is all Michael says, and his tone is unreadable. Calum decides not to think about it, not sure he’s going to like where it takes him, and turns to the front of the room too. 

“Should we try inviting Jasey to a wine and cheese night?” he suggests, and Michael snorts. 

\-------

Wednesday and Thursday pass in a blur of catching up on homework and arguing with Luke about whether or not Calum’s actually able to play bass and sing Jasey Rae at the same time. Michael and Ashton diplomatically refuse to take sides, but in the glances Calum steals he sees Michael nodding along when Calum’s making his points. When Michael sings, just so Luke and Michael can figure out which verses work best for them, Calum can’t help staring; something about the way he performs is so captivating, so mesmerising. He can feel Luke’s eyes on him as he does, something uncomfortable and calculating in his gaze, but can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from Michael. Where else is he supposed to look while Michael’s singing, anyway? 

Thursday’s football practice is hard, long, and sweaty, but Calum relishes it, likes the way that he can really throw himself into it and focus on something that isn’t the question of his sexuality that’s been threatening to break into every other thought Calum’s had over the past few days. He knows he’s going to have to confront it properly, that one conversation with Mali isn’t enough to sort things out in his head and heart, but he’s not sure he’s going to like the conclusion he reaches when he really sits down and is honest with himself. Deep down, he thinks the conclusion might involve Michael, and that makes his skin crawl somehow. 

On Friday, both Luke and Michael are waiting at Calum’s locker after school. 

“Take her,” Calum says as soon as he spots Michael, thrusting Jasey into his hands. Michael rolls his eyes, but takes Jasey and stuffs her in his bag. 

“Sunday?” he says, and Calum nods, busying himself with putting his English books in his locker. “Sweet. See you then. Bye, Luke.” 

“See you,” Luke echoes. Calum chances a glance at Michael out of the corner of his eye as he’s putting his Maths book in his locker, and he lingers a moment too long, because just as he’s withdrawing his hand Luke slams Calum’s locker shut, making him jump back with a yelp. 

“What the fuck?” Calum says indignantly, cradling his hand, even though he’d managed to pull it out in time. It’s the principle of it, he thinks. 

“What’s going on with you and Michael?” Luke says. 

“What?” Calum says stupidly. “Nothing?” Luke fixes him with a hard look. “ _What,_ Luke, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” 

“You’re _staring_ at him,” Luke says. 

“I’m _not,_ ” Calum says, but a bitter taste rises in his throat, twisting in his stomach, because he is, and Luke’s _noticing._ Luke looks at him again, and then sighs. 

“You don’t have to tell me, Cal,” he says. “I just want to know you’re alright. And that you know I’m here if you need me.” Calum bites his lip. He sort of wants to tell Luke, wants to get it off his chest with someone that he trusts more than he trusts almost anybody, but it feels so fucking overwhelming. _I think I might be into guys,_ is what he wants to say. Seven simple words. He takes a deep breath. 

“I’m okay,” is what comes out instead, after a last minute recall of the original words by his scrambled mind, because saying the words on a hot Friday afternoon makes it feel too real, too concrete. Luke frowns at him, a crease of concern between his brows. 

“Okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound happy about it. “You know I’m here if you want to talk about it.” Calum nods. 

“Thank you,” he says, meaning _thank you for being there for me, and thank you for not pushing._ Luke, still frowning, nods. 

“Want a pizza?” he offers - an olive branch - and Calum nods gratefully, opening his locker back up to shove in his Geography textbook and to avoid looking at Luke. 

\-------

Sunday’s football match is an away one, so Calum quickly texts Michael that he’ll be at his a little later, because his mum tells him sternly she is _not_ letting him go to someone else’s house in that state, he will go home and shower _or else._ Michael doesn’t respond, and Calum assumes that it’s because he’s asleep, but it doesn’t stop his eyes flicking to his phone every thirty seconds on the car journey home. 

He showers in about three minutes, hastily scrubbing at himself, and actually feels better for getting the sweat off, enjoys the fresh feeling of his newly-washed hair. He makes quick work of getting dressed and throwing his things in a bag, only needing to double back to his room twice for keys and his wallet, before he’s running out of the door yelling goodbye as he’s slamming it shut and heading to Michael’s. 

Mrs Clifford - no, Karen, as she reminds him yet again - spots him speedwalking down the street and has the door open before he’s even made it up the driveway, smiling welcomingly at him and stepping aside to let him into the house. Michael’s allegedly awake, a fact which both Calum and Karen agree is quite impressive, and Calum takes the stairs two at a time and bursts into Michael’s room without knocking. 

Which, in retrospect, was a terrible idea. 

“What the fuck?” Michael squawks, because he’s _naked._ Like, fully, completely, top-to-toe naked. 

“Oh my God,” Calum mutters, and turns around, stepping back out of the room and covering his eyes. “I- sorry, fuck, I wasn’t thinking-” 

“Close the _fucking_ door,” Michael hisses, and Calum hastily reaches out for the door handle, fumbling for it with his hand still over his eyes, and pulls the door to. He hears Michael clattering around his room for a few minutes, and then the door opens again to reveal a hurriedly-dressed Michael with flushed cheeks. 

“I can’t believe you just saw my dick,” he announces, and Calum winces. 

“I’ll show you mine,” he offers. “Make it even.” 

“Go on then,” Michael says, and steps aside. Calum stares at him. 

“Really?” he says, not moving from his spot on the landing. 

“Well, fair’s fair,” Michael says. 

“Fine,” Calum says, with a shrug, because he’s no stranger to getting naked - he gets his dick out in front of all his teammates at least once a week - and steps into Michael’s room. Michael closes the door behind him, and Calum starts fumbling with his belt. 

“Wait,” Michael says, and Calum pauses, and looks up at him. “I didn’t think you were serious.” 

“You don’t want to see my dick?” Calum says, and then realises how that sounds, and tries to backtrack. “I mean, I don’t mean it like that, I just-” 

“I-” Michael stops. “It’s _your_ dick, Cal. Do what you want.” 

“Yeah, but I can’t just get my dick out _nonconsensually,_ ” Calum says. Michael opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Calum waits patiently, fingers still on his fly. 

“I don’t _not_ want to see it,” Michael says after a moment, and Calum can’t make out exactly what that’s supposed to mean, but knows it’s an affirmative to Operation Get Calum’s Dick Out. He nods, unbuckles his belt, unzips his fly and pulls his jeans and boxers down in one go. 

Michael stares down at Calum’s dick, and nods. Calum sees him swallow, watches the line of his throat as he does, and frowns, unsure what to make of that. Maybe he’s trying not to laugh at Calum’s dick? Or maybe the sight of it makes him feel a bit sick? Is he swallowing back bile? Is Calum’s dick that bad? Jesus, why has no one on the team ever told him-

“That’s a dick,” Michael says eventually, cutting across Calum’s train of thought. 

“It’s _my_ dick,” Calum says, a little petulantly, because he’s not sure what to make of Michael’s reaction. 

“Yeah,” Michael says, eyes still on Calum’s dick. He licks his lips, and clears his throat. “You can put it away now. If you want. I think we’re even.” Calum nods, pulls his boxers and jeans back up and flings himself down on Michael’s bed, re-buckling his belt. Michael doesn’t move, rooted to the spot, still staring at the spot where Calum had been a few moments ago. 

“I think we’ve bonded,” Calum declares, and Michael finally looks up, and there’s a pretty pink tint to his cheeks that Calum kind of wants to lick at, for some reason. 

“You think?” Michael says, sounding a little more like himself with a note of amusement and scepticism in his voice, and Calum grins up at him. 

“Seeing each other’s dicks is, like, third base in friendship,” he tells Michael. 

“What the fuck is fourth base, then?” Michael wants to know, and Calum taps the side of his nose. 

“You might find out one day,” he says, and Michael throws himself down on the bed next to Calum. “Wanna get drunk in the park?” 

“Do we have to bring Jasey?” 

“Obviously.” 

“Then yes.” Calum turns his head to scowl at Michael. 

“What do you mean, ‘then yes’?” he demands, and Michael grins at him, eyes twinkling. 

“I need a buffer,” he says. “What, you think I could stand hanging out with you alone?” Calum squawks indignantly and elbows him, and Michael rolls away, laughing. 

“You’re a bastard,” Calum tells him, and Michael rolls back, still grinning, blinking up at Calum with innocent eyes. 

“Yeah,” he says cheerfully. “But you wouldn’t have me any other way.” Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning too, and his stomach flips pleasantly at Michael’s words. 

“Not sure whether that says more about me or you,” he says, and Michael snorts. 

“Definitely you.”


End file.
